


The Light of Rebirth

by staticsighs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pregnancy Kink, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, connor comes down with baby fever and hank has to cure it for him, hank also works out some of his issues about having kids again first, this isn't mpreg btw connor is a trans dude and he is having a baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticsighs/pseuds/staticsighs
Summary: After the annual Take Your Kid to Work Day at the DCPD, Connor decides he wants a baby. Hank's going to have to talk it over with him before he helps Connor out with his new desires. Nines doesn't know what babysitting entails, and Gavin could really try to be a bit more help.





	1. Perennial

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a fic I've been working on for a few weeks now, and while this chapter is just. All Cute Kid Shenanigans it's going to devolve into Hank breeding Connor by like, chapter four, so that's why the rating is Like That. Still, I hope you enjoy!   
> Also, in case the tags don't make it clear enough: Connor is a trans man, and he's going to have his baby (relatively) naturally, no cis mpreg allowed

It started out innocently enough. “Take Your Kid to Work Day” was still a big deal down at the DCPD, and since Connor had insisted Hank take the day off and review cases from home, he was alone at his desk and thus, prime fodder for children to come and pester.

Tina’s niece Amy had already made herself comfortable up on his desk, sitting politely with her snack cup full of pineapple and telling Connor everything about her kindergarten class completely unprompted, and Connor let her because, well, why not? Besides, it wasn’t like he knew anything about kindergarten. This was a good opportunity to learn.

< _Little brother. I require assistance. >_

 _< Oh, do you now?>_ Connor smiled to himself at Nines’ grumbled message over their telecom network. < _Whatever is the issue, dear brother? >_

_< Don’t be smug with me. Detective Reed left me with his nephew and his niece, and they won’t stop interrogating me.>_

_< Oh, must run in the family.> _Connor politely accepts a piece of pineapple from Amy and pops it in his mouth for analysis. < _Where is Detective Reed? >_

 _< I sent him for coffee. He messaged me five minutes later to tell me his sister insisted on a proper lunch for the twins, so he was going to be longer than anticipated. RK800, these children are _monsters.>

< _Well, they’re Reeds, so. >_

_< You know me. You know I do not ask favors lightly. Please. They are trying to detach my arm and asking me about Transformers.>_

Connor sighs and smiles, saving his brother’s begging to his hard drive before standing up, holding his arms out to Amy. “Miss Chen, would you be so kind as to come with me? I need to find my brother. He seems to be in distress.”

“Oh, aunty told me you had a brother!” Amy climbs up into his arms without hesitation, clinging to his chest and throwing her arms so tight around his shoulders that had he possessed a windpipe, it would have been bent clean in two. “I have a brother, but he’s too little to come here. He lives at home with my mom and my grandma. We went to Disney World last week and he didn’t come. Our cat didn’t come either, we have two cats and a dog, and I get to walk them but only when my mom is home. Tomorrow we’re going to go to the big water hole and walk!”

“Oh, do you mean the reservoir?” Connor asks, shifting her over to his hip without thinking, holding her on the balancing ledge between his hip and thigh as he crosses the room to find his brother. Nines is currently immobile, one of the twins pulling on his fingers and opening up the ports underneath his fingernails, cooing with awe. The other is sitting underneath the desk, drawing on his case files. Connor can’t help but smile, despite the dagger glance his brother throws at him. Amy points at Nines, blinking.

“Is that your brother? My brother’s small, and he’s younger than me. Your brother looks like my dad, a little? My dad’s really cool, one time he built our house and then we moved there, and he—“

“Little brother,” Nines announces, “I am being subject to torture. Please contact Markus, as this is a violation of my autonomy and android rights.”

“Hush, she wasn’t done,” Connor waves him off. “I’m sorry, Amy. You were saying?”

“Um,” Amy blinks. “I watch videos on my tablet! There’s this video is about Berry, she’s a rabbit and she has a dog and when she goes to school they actually go under the school and put on costumes and fight crime. Wanna watch?”

“No.”

“Nines, stop it. Yes,” Connor says, putting Amy down on his desk. “Why don’t you let—“

“Ryder and Harriet—“

“—Ryder and Harriet watch with you,” Connor finishes. “Nines, move over. I’ll work at your desk today, keep them occupied.”

“Oh, be my guest,” Nines grouses, jerking his hand out of Harriet’s grip. Connor tuts.

“Don’t be rude, she has an interest in robotics. We should encourage that,” he chastises him. “Ryder? Do you want me to get you paper from the printer so you can draw on something new?”

Ryder climbs onto Nines’ lap and nods, giving Connor a hopeful look as he sneezes, a river of snot flinging itself clean out of his nose. Nines closes his eyes and stills himself, his LED bright red. Connor just produces a tissue from Gavin’s desk and wipes Ryder clean.

“Can I come with you?” Amy asks.

“Of course you can. Why don’t you all come with me? I’ll show you some of the sights along the way,” Connor promises.

“Take as long as you require, RK800.”

“That’s not his _name,_ ” Amy protests, hitting Nines gently with her tiny hand. Nines, who was built to search and destroy, remains incredibly calm and still as she tugs on his sleeve for emphasis. “It’s _Connor._ He _said.”_

“It’s his robot name,” Harriet says. “He has two names!”

“Oh,” Amy relaxes. “I know lots of people like that! I have another name too, but we only use it at home, so it’s special.”

“What about Nines? Nines isn’t a name,” Ryder pipes up.

“File a complaint with your uncle, it was his idea.”

“Mommy says Uncle Gavin doesn’t _have_ any ideas,” Harriet pipes up. Connor and Nines share a look of amusement.

“That is something your mother and I can agree on, child,” Nines replies. “Run along, now. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Can you show me your arc ring? I wanna see how it works,” Harriet insists as Connor takes her by the hand and urges her forward, Amy clinging to his leg. He hefts her up onto his hip again and shepherds Ryder behind his sister, trotting through the bullpen as Harriet interrogates him about Nines.

It’s a quick walk to the supply room, but Connor is stopped not once, not twice, not even three times, but so many that he’d given up keeping track, and each time it’s to be handed another child by a passing coworker, or for another slightly older child to follow the ever-growing pack of children surrounding Connor to see what was going on. Chris’ daughter, Ben’s twin nephews, Jeff’s niece and son, and the friends they’d picked up during their day at work all followed Connor without complaint, asking him about his LED, his partner, his brother, and telling him stories about whatever crosses their minds.

Nines can feel the rumble of rubber and Velcro shoes hitting the linoleum before he even sees the children round the corner with Connor. He waits until he’s certain his brother is close to his desk to lower his tablet and stare at Connor and the daycare’s worth of children he’s recently acquired, his expression a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.

“Little brother.”

“Hi Nines! Has Detective Reed returned yet?”

“Right behind you, Roomba.” Gavin saunters into the bullpen with a sack of greasy food for himself, and a delicate green and white bag from the local organic deli for Harriet and Ryder. “Fuck’re you doing with an army of six year olds?”

“ _Gavin,”_ Connor snaps, whipping around with his LED blazing. Everyone in the bullpen stops, glancing out of the corner of their eye to watch the unfolding scene. “There are _children_ here, and if you don’t watch your language I will pick you up and throw you in the garbage. Which, incidentally, is where those kind of words belong, children.”

“Oh my god,” Gavin mumbles, looking to Nines for support. Nines just shrugs and shakes his head.

“Just let it happen, Detective. It’s how I intend to survive the day.”

“You need to set a good example as a member of Detroit’s finest,” Connor says, and Gavin snorts in contempt. “Apologize.”

Gavin blinks. Connor stares back, unyielding and dark-eyed.

Gavin rubs the side of his face, scraping his fingers over his three day old stubble. “Oh, Jesus, you’re—you’re really serious? Nines. Please help me out here.”

Nines swipes to the next screen on his tablet. “What you do with your mouth is your business, Gavin.”

Gavin waggles his eyebrows and grins. “Last night you seemed to disagree.”

Connor hauls Gavin off by the scruff of his hoodie, picking him up and sitting him down at a desk further away from the kids, much to the delight of the horde of children hooting around his hips.

“See! I told you! He’s an android, so he’s super strong!”

“Uncle Gavin’s just not that heavy, don’t get so excited.”

“Connie’s super strong! Go Connie!”

“This is the dumbest thing in the fucking world, and I’m going to dump coffee into your wiring,” Gavin grouses, swatting Connor away from him.

“You should be lucky I didn’t throw you in the garbage with that kind of attitude! Gavin! There are children here!”

“Connor, you’re being a naïve dipshit again.” Gavin gestures at his niece. “Harriet, you know what ‘fuck’ means, don’t you? C’mon, help me out—“

Hank’s wastebasket, which is mostly full of greasy napkins and stale doughnut bits, finds itself relocated firmly over Gavin’s head. Nines barks out a laugh from behind his brother, who just folds his arms over his chest and huffs.

“He’s not wrong, Connor,” Harriet says from near Connor’s elbow. “I do totally know what that word means.”

Connor’s LED flickers yellow, briefly.

“If you promise not to teach it to the other children, I’ll tell Nines to show you how his wiring works.”

Harriet brightens up. “Deal.”

They shake on it. Amy finishes her pineapple and goes to take a stale piece of doughnut off of the desk, but Connor scoops her up before she can do it, putting her back on her hip and calling out, “Why don’t we all go on a lunch break? I can show you where all your moms and dads and aunts and uncles get coffee and doughnuts!”

The promise of sugar safely herds the children out of the bullpen as Gavin pulls the wastebasket off his head and sticks out his tongue at Nines, who is vibrating with restrained laughter, burying his face in his arms.

“Hey, laugh now, but when you’re getting begged to pull babysitting duty, I’m taking your phone and telling Hank you’ve got nothing but free time, fuckass.” Gavin sniffs, taking one of the stale doughnut bits off the desk and examining it briefly before deciding against it. Nines blinks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh my god, you’re like six months old and don’t know shit, I forgot,” Gavin gestures at where Connor’s mobile daycare had just been standing. “Your baby brother’s got baby fever, Nines. I’m telling you, this time next year you’re gonna be the only RK on active duty, ‘cause he’s gonna be home cooing over whatever baby he crams up into his USB ports.”

“That is a truly horrifying mental image and I hate it,” Nines replies. “Why would you subject me to it? I honestly thought you had improved in your behavior towards androids.”

“Listen, you can hate it all you want, but it doesn’t make me less right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gavin gestures to him. “And toss me my burger, okay? I can’t take this Take Your Kid to Work day shit anymore, I’m stress eating.”

Nines throws the soft bag full of fries and burgers directly into Gavin’s face. He just laughs and stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth. “You’ll be sorry same time next year, Nines! I promise!”

Nines waves him off and goes back to work, but when the cavalcade of children descends like the locusts upon Egypt across his workspace, a small nagging part of him can’t help but consider Gavin’s concern.


	2. A Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank grieves. Connor provides comfort and takeout before he makes some future plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This chapter talks about Hank's loss and a brief discussion of his suicidal ideation, so if discussing child death, suicidal ideation, and grief is a bit much for you, avoid! Take care of yourselves first!

Hank was fine. Really, he was. He’d called that therapist Connor had insisted on him seeing and talked to her for a little bit, sure, and he wouldn’t say he was _good,_ but he hadn’t thought about going down to the store and buying beer behind Connor’s back, or playing with the gun. Not that he could do that last one anymore, really. He’d put it in a safe that only Connor had access to; it had felt…appropriate, somehow.

Hank pours himself a cup of coffee and lifts it to his lips, and when he sees his son out of the corner of his eye he raises his hand up and waves to him, the memory flitting past like a dust mote in the sun before Hank is alone in his kitchen.

“I love you, Cole,” he says to his empty house, and finishes his coffee. He picks up the paper, still stubbornly printed, and pads into the living room after letting Sumo back inside, his dog climbing up onto the couch to lay his head in his lap while Hank reads the paper and keeps his tablet close by for any work notifications.

He does get a text from work, later in the day, but it’s not exactly a case update. It’s a photo notification from Tina, who adds, “ _Hank you have to see this!!”_

Hank lifts up his tablet and blinks at Connor, who is standing in the middle of a small crowd of children, Tina’s little niece on his hip. He’s been captured mid-discussion, talking to the curly-haired grade schooler in front of him the same way he would speak to Markus or Jeff, his cow eyes bright and focused, and his posture determined and stiff.

Hank puts the tablet down and sighs, rubbing at his temple. He hasn’t even removed his fingers from the tablet before it vibrates again with another message, this one from Chris. It’s Connor from another angle letting one of the kids ride on his shoulders.

Vibrate. Another photo. Connor’s showing off how he and Nines interface to a bunch of wide-eyed children, beaming broadly.

Vibrate again. And again. And again. A river of photos tumbling over his screen, everyone in the bullpen managing to snag a shot of Connor in a candid moment with the children, somehow.

Hank stops looking for a little while. But then his phone vibrates in his pocket with a separate message, this one from Jeff. The photo is of Connor sitting down on the steps of Jeff’s office, two of the children in his lap sleeping and the rest playing quietly around his feet.

The accompanying message is simple and succinct; unsurprising, coming from the man he’s known since academy.

“ _You’re a lucky man, Hank. Make good on it.”_

Hank closes his eyes and puts his phone back in his pocket, his chest tight and his heart twisting in his guts.

“I guess I am,” he says to Sumo. “Shouldn’t be me that got lucky though, is it, boy? Should’ve been him. It should have always been him.”

Sumo scoots closer to Hank and nudges his hand with his huge head, giving it a lick. Hank rubs behind his ears and sighs.

“Tonight I’ll let him make dinner,” he says. “And I won’t complain about it or ask for takeout. It’ll just be nice to have him in the house again, right? Wish he’d come home soon.”

Silence. Light through the window catching dust in the air as it dances.

“Wish you could’ve met him, too. He’s really something.”

Nothing else is said until Connor comes home, but it’s all right this time. Hank’s not good, but he is okay, and that comes with the ability to sit with the sadness that’s still crouched on the seat where he’d spent his afternoon, hunched and heavy.

“Hank!” Connor bustles through the door, accompanied by a cool breeze and soon joined in the doorway by Sumo’s excited bulk, jumping up onto his shoulders. Connor ruffles Sumo’s jowls and kisses his nose before turning to Hank, beaming.

Hank rises to his feet and rubs at his cheek, giving Connor a baffled look. “What? Good day at work or something?”

“Yes, but it’s not that,” Connor shakes his head and smiles wider, helping Sumo’s paws down from his shoulders. “It’s just good to see you, Hank. I missed you.”

Hank glances aside, scuffing the ball of his foot against the floor, fidgeting with his thoughts. “Huh. Well. Missed you too, kid.”

Connor pecks his lips gently before leaning against his shoulder, letting Hank tuck his head under his chin.

“Hank?”

“Con?”

“Would you mind if we ordered in tonight? I’ve been…thinking. And I need some time to process. I returned home twenty minutes later than I intended as well, and if I am to see you off to bed at a proper hour before work tomorrow—“

“You had me at ‘order in,’” Hank says, tugging Connor over to the couch, pulling him into his lap.

Connor collapses gratefully into his embrace, sighing in pleasure as he kicked off his shoes and let Hank undo his tie, slipping it off. Sumo takes one of Connor’s socks off to gum thoughtfully on, and climbs up onto the couch next to him, puddling out into a giant dog pile over Connor’s lower half.

Silence lingers for a little longer, but this is a different kind; comforting and well-worn, rounded at the edges and fitting much better into the space. Hank puts his hand in Connor’s hair and reigns over this new peace with a small smile.

Connor doesn’t even open his eyes when he next speaks. “I ordered from the vegetarian restaurant near work.”

Hank jolts up, smacking Connor with a pillow. “Connor, god dammit—“

Connor’s laughing, his hair falling in little curls over his forehead as his whole face crinkles up with the laughter, his eyes blindingly bright. Hank swats him again for good measure. “You traitor.”

“I also ordered maztoh ball soup and latkes from the kosher deli next to the vegetarian restaurant.”

Hank considers this, settling into the couch. “Mm. You’re forgiven. It’s a cold night.”

“Winter hasn’t quite finished with us yet,” Connor closes his eyes. “Hank? Keep your hand in my hair, please. I have to process, but it’s still good to feel your presence.”

“Do what you gotta, sweetheart,” Hank murmurs, rubbing his fingers in slow circles around Connor’s scalp. Connor hums, his LED canary-colored.

Connor doesn’t move from his spot, even when Hank gets up to receive the mix of kale and Brussel sprout salad with baked tofu and balsamic and his soup and latkes, and when Hank gently lifts Connor’s head back into his lap, eating one-handed to keep petting him, Connor sighs in pleasure but doesn’t speak.

Hank turns the television on, and watches the news for a little while before flipping to sports and watching basketball. Connor sits with him in silence until finally, as the game draws to a close, he lifts his head.

“Hank? It’s late. You should rest.”

“You gonna go on standby in bed tonight, or you still gotta think about your thing?” Hank asks, getting up off the couch.

“I can think in bed,” Connor promises. “Besides, I enjoy being with you.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. I, uh…” Hank scratches at his beard, frowning and glancing away. “Like having you there too.”

Connor smiles, soft and fond, and follows Hank down the hall and into his bedroom; he makes himself comfortable on the bed and waits for Hank to finish his nightly routine—shave, quick shower, brush his teeth, and pull his hair up to keep it out of his face when he sleeps. Connor’s collected multiple timestamps of this routine and returned an average of seventeen minutes, approximately, for Hank to finish up his night routine.

Tonight it takes twenty, which is fine; Connor’s been so focused on his thoughts he’s forgotten to regulate his rhythmic vibration and simulated heartbeat. Hank doesn’t acknowledge it, but Connor’s done his research and determined Hank would sleep sounder and with less restless tossing and turning if he performs this function. And unsurprisingly, Hank does.

Connor sighs, satisfied, and slumps down into bed, pressing his face into Hank’s pillow briefly before the door swings open and Hank walks in, damp and naked. Connor sits up and squirms a little, swaying his hips, and Hank slaps his ass as he walks past, grinning when Connor moans in response, fisting the sheets.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Hank says. “Gotta get into work earlier tomorrow, ‘cause of today, and I’m not gonna do that with you milking my dick all night.”

Connor whines and concedes with a little groan, cuddling up against Hank. “Very well, Hank. I shall remain bereft of your embrace until tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna throw you out the god damn window,” Hank yawns, laying down on his pillow. “Scoot over, kitten.”

Connor complies, nudging himself across the bed until Hank’s settled comfortably, turning the lights off and resting his head against the pillow. Connor tucks the blanket up over his shoulder.

“Hank?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Connor.”

Connor vibrates with pleasure, resuming his calming breathing and heartbeat rhythms for Hank to drift off to; with that task completed, he can return to his thoughts, continuing where his processors left off. His thoughts wander for a time as the night stretches out before him like a cat at rest.

He’s only realized this today, but children are wonderful. They’re complex creatures, and there’s so many things he could learn from being around children, he knows this. Even just a day babysitting other people’s children had been so enjoyable that he’s been dancing around a single question this entire time—

What if he had his own?

Connor’s hand slips downward and cups his vulva, squeezing experimentally. He’d been given this set of genitals by CyberLife, and never thought to question their decision on the matter, even post-deviancy. He enjoyed having a vagina, and it made intercourse with Hank uniquely pleasurable. He liked his body. But it was only really the same thing up until it went and connected to his inner wiring and biocomponents. He didn’t possess a uterus, or any eggs to fertilize.

… _Could_ he?

Connor stiffens. His LED shivers yellow before slipping to red. The thought of making the search looms in front of him, the unknown throbbing with possibility in the darkness of his and Hank’s bedroom. His chest constricts, and a little pop-up in his line of vision helpfully reminds him his systems are experiencing stress.

Connor bites his lip, holds onto Hank for comfort, and after taking some time to steel himself, he searches the concept online. It takes a few seconds to load up, and he spends every one of them with his face buried into Hank’s shoulder, but when they finally load, he’s scrolling through the search responses with a flutter in his thirium pump.

< _Nines! >_

_< Little brother, this had better be important. I just managed to force Reed into bed.>_

_< Nines! Nines, Nines, Nines! Nines, they have them! They have—I could! I—I really could, oh, Nines—this is going to be amazing!>_

_< What is? What? RK800? You’re not making any sense—>_

Connor scans the article on CyberLife’s homepage, his hands shaking as he clings to Hank. Uterine installments flicker in his vision, multiple models being offered, and a separate tab leads to a genetic database, and how to synthesize an egg for insemination, or a sperm sample.

He could do this. _They_ could do this. He and Hank could—

Connor bolts upright in bed, shaking Hank by the shoulder. “Hank! Hank, wake up, wake up!”

“Nngh? Kiddo?” Hank rolls over, his eyes still closed and his mouth gummy, thick with sleep and barely moving. “Whuss goin’ on?”

“Hank, we could have a baby! Hank! Hank, I want a baby! I _need_ a baby!” Connor takes Hank’s hand and brings it up to his cheek, holding Hank close. Hank’s fingers sleepily scratch against Connor’s smooth skin as he snuffles, still mostly unconscious.

“Huh. Yeah?”

“Yes! Oh, Hank, if you—if you put a baby in me, I’d,” Connor’s eyes flash, and his whole body vibrates in bliss. “Yes. I’ve decided. I need you to put a baby in me, Hank. Please. I want to—I want to be full with your child.”

“Huh? Sure, sure. S’bed, Connor. Sleep now.”

“Oh, you’re right. We’ll discuss this in the morning. I’ll contact CyberLife now and make preliminary arrangements,” Connor promises, kissing his forehead. “I love you, Hank. Rest now. It’s all right.”

Hank’s already asleep. Connor settles back down beside him, his whole body vibrating gently with shuddering happiness, and begins to sift through the genetic database CyberLife has available, pulling up comparisons between the uterine models in a separate window.


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor revisit the question of having a baby. Connor and Nines talk it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends! I'm probably going to take next week off of updating to write more and also, holiday hustle and bustle. Enjoy this update, but keep in mind some brief, (vague!) mentions of Hank's suicidal ideation again. It stops after this chapter though, don't worry!

 By the time Connor’s ended his standby, gotten dressed for work, finished preparing Hank’s breakfast and set aside a mug of Thirium for himself, he’s settled on a uterine model optimized for WR400s, the closest in programming and specs to his own model, and created a list of potential genetic attributes for the selection of eggs he’s planning to order; he could, of course, settle for just one, but the element of surprise about which egg ends up fertilized makes it feel more…real. Like his baby is going to be a beautiful little surprise for him and Hank—

“Oh,” Connor sighs, hugging himself tight. He hasn’t placed the order yet, of course; he wants Hank to have some input on their child’s potential characteristics outside of what his sperm would contribute.

The thought of Hank’s sperm has Connor squirming against the kitchen counter, hefting himself up on top of it and parting his legs, just a little, leaning back and thinking about Hank filling him up right here and right now, or after, once he’d installed his upgrades—where were they going to conceive their child? Connor considers a list of options to evaluate later. He wants it to be special, so he’ll need more time to debate than what he has this morning.

“Hank? You’re awake, aren’t you?” Connor calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, Con. Just lemme get my jacket,” Hank replies, and Connor can hear his clothes being tossed around before Hank steps out of their bedroom and into the kitchen, looking down at the table with his eyebrows raised. “Huh. You already made breakfast? Thanks, sweetheart.”

“I figured you might want to eat before we left,” Connor says, sitting down next to Hank at the table, leaning his head on Hank’s shoulder as he tucks into breakfast and Connor drinks his mug full of Thirum, the worn logo for Knights of the Black Death gleaming in the kitchen light.

“So. What’s got you in such a tizzy this morning, kitten?”

Connor blinks. “I don’t know what you mean, Hank.”

“I can feel it, Con. You’re practically squirming out of your own skin about something. Chalk it up to cop instincts or somethin’, but…” Hank trails off. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes! I was just considering the best potential locations where we might conceive our child,” Connor says, his face tinted cerulean and his smile shining bright, shyly peeking out from past his plump lips. “I suppose I should start putting a registry together as well. Hm.”

Hank lifts his coffee up and stares down into it. The world is wobbling underneath him like a house built atop a cliff, a storm brewing along the skyline and threatening to beat it down to splinter and bone.

“I already secured a uterine attachment,” Connor continues, sipping from his mug while speaking—one of those little android things Hank usually notices, except for right now, when all he can see is the one spot on the kitchen table where the wood’s gone cracked and warped. The swirls circle around the hole, and he’s falling into the gaps. “Because there were so few of my model made before the revolution, I’ll have to make do with an WR400 model’s attachment, but it will be more than sufficient to ensure our baby’s health and safety, and that’s the most important thing.”

Hank has to say something. He has to say too many things. His head hurts, his heart hurts, and he can’t breathe. He tries to reach up and grasp at Connor, but the movement denies him, his body stiff and still as the grave.

The comparison wrenches a bark of laughter from his throat and makes Connor blink, staring at Hank with his head cocked. “Hank? Is something the matter?”

“What,” Hank breathes, “the fuck.”

Connor pauses, staring harder at him, his brows knitting together. “I…I detect an unusual level of confusion in your statement. And your heart rate is elevated. I don’t understand. We discussed this last night—“

“What? We discussed _what_ last night? Holy shit, I can’t—I can’t do this, Connor, I—“ Hank staggers up from the table and stumbles out of the kitchen like a deer with an arrow in its side, shouldering the front door open as Connor scrambles to keep up, calling for him.

“Hank! Hank, your breakfast—“

“I’m not fuckin’ hungry!” Hank snaps back, throwing the door to the car open and climbing inside.

Connor stands in the open doorway, one hand wrapped over his stomach and digging into his chassis, the other hanging limp and lost at his side. Hank looks up at him, and when their eyes meet a shudder of pain socks him right in the gut.

Connor turns around and disappears back into the house. In the six minutes it takes for Connor to prepare himself for work, Hank’s planned out how he could park the car in his garage, turn the engine on, and end his own life in a haze of carbon monoxide twice, with a calmness to his thoughts that terrifies him. The opportunity is still looming in his mind, larger than life, even as Connor climbs into the seat beside him, buckling his seatbelt and placing his hands in his lap.

Hank drives them to work wordlessly, and tries not to notice the highway dividers and where he could smash the car against them. He could kill himself, but he could never hurt Connor. Never, never, never, not even when Connor’s words have unearthed a vicious, wicked hurt curled around his guts, digging into his ribs and up through his bile duct, so that when he speaks it’s through a mouth of thorns.

“Got, uh. Some cases to review when we go in. You wanna—stick around and check them for me or. Uh. Got some, uh, stuff of your own to do?”

“I think so,” Connor says, his voice so soft it scrapes Hank’s skin bloody. “I’d—I’d like to check up on my brother. Reassure him about my messages from last night. I will see you shortly, Lieutenant.”

Connor vanishes like light turned the wrong way in a prism, and he’s gone before Hank can even ask a question or come up with a defense for himself, anything at all that would be better than sitting in his car and staring out at nothing over the dashboard.

Well, he thinks, maybe if he pisses Connor off enough he’ll leave the gun box unlocked.

The thought churns his stomach. He lingers on it anyway.

…

Connor doesn’t talk to Nines, which is the first time he’s ever deliberately lied to Hank, now that he thinks about it, but he just can’t talk to anyone for a little while. He sits down in the evidence room and spends the day quietly organizing and archiving evidence backlogs, sifting through hundreds of gigabytes worth of electronic records and re-organizing it all, putting physical evidence into the correct storage lockers and making sure everything is properly dated, and he does not think about the uterine attachment he is now going to have to return.

A knock on the door makes him stiffen up.

“You know, for the one who enlightened me on the value of taking care of our chosen human, you certainly don’t seem to have treated Hank well this morning,” Nines remarks, leaning in the doorway. “Would this have anything to do with what you messaged me about last night?”

Connor doesn’t turn to look at him, still organizing.

“RK800,” Nines coaxes him. “He isn’t the only one with…concerns. About your well-being. When I asked him where you had gone, he told me he thought you’d gone to speak with me. And you didn’t.”

“I asked Hank if he wanted to have a baby, and he said yes.” Connor inputs new records into the archive on the screen in front of him. “And then this morning when I asked him about it, he—“

Nines holds out his hand, the pale white chassis catching the red glow of Connor’s LED and Connor grasps it immediately, his own skin already sliding away as they interface, and Connor shows Nines what he can’t speak aloud. Nines pulls away after a few brief seconds, brows raised.

“You asked your Lieutenant this important question when he was half asleep,” Nines reminds him. “Humans are not like us, RK800. He probably only heard your voice and agreed to whatever you were saying, because he cares for you and that is what humans will do half-asleep for those they love, as I have found.”

Connor gives Nines a suggestive look and Nines swats him away. “Quiet, you. We are discussing your issue at hand. Now, I don’t believe I have to remind you about the Lieutenant’s personal trauma, so I won’t. I am not saying his response was fair and just, but you haven’t actually talked him through this, have you?”

Connor bites his lip. “I suppose not. I was—I was so excited it overwhelmed me. And I’ve been feeling—well. You felt how I’ve been feeling.”

“I did.” Nines puts a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Little brother, you’ve been worrying your Lieutenant something wretched today. Perhaps sort this out tonight before you make any more decisions about your potential spawn?”

“Don’t call them spawn, Nines,” Connor mumbles. “I—I’ll try. But, well, do you think—“

He doesn’t even need to interface with Nines for his brother to understand. Nines sighs and lifts his hand from Connor’s shoulder, opening the door to the evidence room and beckoning him out.

“I think he will agree with whatever your wishes are, because he loves you and is terrified of losing you,” Nines remarks. “I suggest you not take advantage of that.”

Connor’s LED flickers from red to a curious, bouncy yellow. He nods and falls into step behind Nines, ascending the stairs and up onto the main floor, back into the bullpen and straight to Hank’s desk. Nines quietly excuses himself, giving his brother one last firm look before he strides back to his own desk and leaves Connor staring at Hank, his body shaking slightly with the sudden weight in his chest.

Hank lifts his head and looks up at Connor, and the absence of light in his eyes makes Connor’s visual processing glitch out. His whole body aches with something unknown, and he fumbles in the new darkness before him, his hand shaking.

Hank takes Connor’s hand in his, and steadies him. Leads him down gently until he’s sitting on Hank’s desk, and then puts his other hand on his thigh.

“Hey,” Hank says, his voice soft and gentle. “You worked real hard today, kiddo. What say we head home for the night?”

“I can’t,” Connor shivers. “I can’t move. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’m so. Overwhelmed, I. I’m. Afraid. And full of something I can’t quantify or name. It hurts.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get home then, yeah? C’mon, Con. Please. Refocus, baby. I want you to see me. I missed you so goddamn much today.”

He obeys without hesitation, both his visual receptors springing back to life at Hank’s command. Hank cups his cheek and sighs. “There you go. There’s my baby. I thought you were gonna leave me.”

“Never,” Connor says, the promise rushing out of his throat more as a reflex than a sound, “never, never—“

He throws his arms around Hank, and for a second forgets where they are, until Hank pats his back awkwardly, hiding a grin in his shoulder. “Wanna save the cuddling for home, kiddo?”

“No. Now,” Connor grumbles, but he lifts himself up gracefully off of Hank and follows his Lieutenant out of the bullpen and back out towards the car. The drive home is made in silence, but it’s not the same as the morning’s silence, in a way that Connor can’t explain.


	4. Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank talk things over. Hank comes to a decision all for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has genuinely been so warm and welcoming, it makes me so, so happy and I am so grateful. Thank you so much!! I really hope this new chapter is worth it!

“You may order takeout tonight, Hank,” Connor murmurs as Hank pulls into the driveway. “Whatever you’d like, just tell me and I will place the order.”

“Nah, Con. I’m not in a takeout mood,” Hank promises, taking the keys out of the car. “You mind if I make myself something? I think it’d help me think.”

“Not at all, Hank. Do you need a list of what ingredients we currently have on hand? I can cross-reference them with a recipe index and find possible dinner plans to—“

Hank leans over and kisses Connor lightly on the mouth. Connor knows he _could_ talk around it, but part of being deviant is learning when he _shouldn’t,_ so he lets Hank kiss him gently and smiles.

“I know what we got, I’ll make something,” Hank promises. “C’mon, kid. We gotta take Sumo for a walk after dinner.”

Connor follows him into the house and into the kitchen straight after, Sumo plodding behind them and wagging his tail in welcome. Connor sits at the table and watches Hank gather ingredients, letting Sumo place his huge head in his lap.

Connor watches Hank heat up a skillet for a few minutes in silence, his LED a dull yellow. Hank’s back is turned, and Connor takes his time memorizing the curve of it, the bow and shape, and drums his fingers on the table.

“I spoke with my brother. Much later than I anticipated, of course, because I—I was overwhelmed, and unsure what to do with myself. However. We discussed the issue that had arisen, and I came to a few conclusions of my own.”

“Did you now?” Hank says, chopping up an onion against the battered old cutting board.

“Yes. I’m—I’m sorry, Hank. I forget sometimes how you and I process information in completely different ways. There is no purgatory between my standby and my active systems; this is untrue for humans, I take it.”

“Got that right, kiddo,” Hank sighs. “I didn’t—“

“No, no! Please, wait. You don’t have to apologize.” Connor holds his hands up. “I was so overwhelmed and excited with a sudden solution to my situation that I immediately sought your approval and consent, and I assumed too much in doing so. I hurt you, Hank. I’m so sorry.”

Hank adds onions to the potatoes he’s roasting in the skillet. He sucks in a breath. Connor waits, every second its own separate agony, for his response.

“It’s not,” Hank shakes his head. “I mean. Yes, I do gotta apologize, I talk to my therapist about this shit. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. You got no way of knowing how I’d react to shit like that. And yeah, it hurt, but it’s on me to control that reaction. Not you.”

“Still—“

“Connor, shut up,” Hank says, and Connor does. Hank turns back to look at him, blinking in surprise, before crossing over to the cabinet and grabbing a can of black beans, peeling off the lid.

“Okay. Didn’t expect that to work. But, uh,” Hank huffs, turning around to dump the glistening black beans into the skillet, pushing it around with a spatula. “We both made mistakes. And we’re both adults, so we’re going to let our apologies stand and move on. Right?”

“Right,” Connor concedes after a moment’s consideration.

“Okay. Good. So. You want to have a baby.”

“I want to have _your_ baby, Hank,” Connor corrects him, standing up from the table and approaching him slowly. “I want to prepare a uterine attachment, insert it internally against my vaginal ports, and have your sperm fertilize eggs containing pre-determined genetic material that you and I have agreed upon.”

Hank snorts helplessly, shaking his head. “That’s romantic.”

“I’m being so direct because I want to make it very clear that I do not want a YK model android—“

“Okay, yeah, because that’s existentially terrifying—“

“I would be amenable to adoption in the future, of course. I think that would be an important step. But I do not want an android child, and while I would love to grow our family by adopting, I want you to bend me over the kitchen table and fuck a baby into me. That’s it.”

Hank turns the heat off the stove. Gently puts the spatula down.

“Kitchen table, huh?”

“This is, when you think about it, where we first truly connected,” Connor concedes. “We first _met_ in Jimmy’s bar, but I’m sure they would be adverse to you conceiving a child with me on the bar counter.”

“Dunno, some guys’re probably into that,” Hank replies, shaking his head. “That’s, uh—not important. God, Connor, you can’t be serious—“

“I am completely and absolutely serious, and have already secured a uterine attachment, as I previously stated. I have not finalized purchasing the accompanying genetically modified eggs, as I was hoping for your input. I want you to be a part of this, Hank.”

Hank takes a step back, rubbing his hand over his forehead and smoothing his hair back, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. You can’t. This is ridiculous, Connor.”

Connor cocks his head. “How so?”

Hank furrows his brow, glancing aside. “Jesus, you really want a list?”

“Yes,” Connor agrees with a nod. “Please tell me every single concern you have. I would like to know why you feel the way you do at present.”

Hank pauses, brow furrowed, and sinks into thought. “Hm. Okay. Let’s start with the immediate; I’m a recovering alcoholic and I’ve got clinical depression and PTSD.”

“There is nothing wrong with recovering. And your mental illness does not make you unfit to be a parent. It never has. If you feel like it has not been enough time since you started recovery, I understand that, but for what it’s worth I’ve logged seven months, six days, and thirteen hours since alcohol last entered your system.”

“Shit, really? Huh.” Hank blinks. “Wasn’t expecting that. Set a reminder for when it’s been a year, okay? You remember shit better’n me.”

“Of course, Hank,” Connor says, and doesn’t tell him that he’d set the reminder months ago. “What else is there?”

“I’m _old,_ Con. I was old when I had Cole, and I’m older now. What if I’m not there to take care of our baby?”

His voice strains a little when he says the words in a way that makes Connor’s seething network of biocomponents throb in pain. Connor shakes his head and remains firm. “The average life expectancy for a human is currently ninety one years, Hank. And there are men older than you who have conceived children with their partners. Plus, your age would not be as much of a factor in the child’s genetics, since CyberLife will be responsible for gene-editing about half of them, given that I have none of my own to contribute.”

“But—“ Hank swallows. “Even if I live to ninety. They’ll only be forty. That’s—that’s not enough time. They’ll be alone.”

“I will remain with them,” Connor promises. “It will be what keeps me alive. Because after you, I—I might not have anything else.”

Hank stares at him, eyes bright. Connor’s LED is an aching, faded red.

“Please don’t think about it like that,” Connor says. “I can understand your other concerns. But please allow me to be selfish. I do not want to consider—that. I can’t. Please.”

“Okay. Okay. That’s—that’s fair, I get it. But. You can’t possibly want a kid with me, in any case. I’m not—I’m no great catch, kid. At some point you’re going to meet better, and _want_ better, and, I just…I don’t want you to have a baby with a guy you’re gonna leave.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I want,” Connor retorts, folding one arm over his chest and pointing the other at Hank, his gaze determined and his jaw set. “I _know_ what I want, and it’s you. I chose you. Every day my systems return to full function and I look over and I see you in our bed and I choose you again, Hank. I have made my choice to be with you among all of the people I have met in the past eight months of my life, and I will make that choice every day for the rest of my life, as long as you allow it. Statistically, that is the most realistic outcome to be concluded from the evidence.”

Hank can’t look at Connor. He looks at Sumo instead, sitting happily in his dog bed with a chew toy Connor had bought for him, and he reaches deep down into himself, feeling out the roots of unconditional love Connor had planted deep inside his heart without him even realizing. The seeds were finally starting to sprout, and his heart was full of flowers.

“You are kind,” Connor says, “and noble, and brave. You are the best man I know. If you didn’t find the idea of planning another wedding, quote, ‘too much of a fuckin’ hassle,’ I would have married you already. I took your last _name,_ Hank, the second that androids received full legal status. Do you really think I wouldn’t give anything to have _your_ baby, if having a baby is what I want?”

Hank scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, for all the good it’ll do him. “Fuckin’—fuckin’ god dammit, kid, you can’t imitate someone’s voice when you say shit like that. Jesus.”

Connor just gives him a small smile. “Is there anything else, Hank?”

Hank takes a deep breath. The silence stifles him, threatens to swallow him whole in the kitchen. He turns around again to put food on his plate, and screws his eyes shut.

“Cole.”

Connor lets his name hang in the silence for a few minutes, processing how to proceed. Hank takes a few ashen bites of his dinner and forces himself to swallow.

“I can give you an answer for everything else,” Connor finally says, “but if I am to be perfectly honest, I do not understand death as you do, Hank. I don’t want to say something that would hurt you, because I don’t—I don’t know how this pain feels to you. I can’t. So I don’t want to say that this isn’t a legitimate reason for you to refuse, but…”

Connor’s LED shivers between yellow and red so quickly that it catches orange, briefly, like a sunset in the desert. He shakes his head. “I don’t want you to think I intend to replace Cole for you. I do not want a child to cover up his memory. I would just—I would just like us to continue making our family. And Cole will always be there. You can tell our children about their big brother, and you will love him, forever, and both of these things can be true, Hank. Loss and life are not…mutually exclusive, I think.”

Hank nods. His eyes are hazy and distant, his hands clenched tight as he struggles to keep his breathing relaxed.

“But when Nines and I talked, he—he said something that made me think,” Connor sucks in a breath for emphasis, dismissing his multiple internal stress warnings. “He told me that if whatever I choice I made, you would agree with me, even at great cost to yourself. And I don’t want that, Hank. I don’t know much about raising a child, but I know that much. This has to be something you and I decide on together. So I don’t want an answer now. I’d like it if you took the time to think on what I’ve said, and…seriously consider the matter.”

Hank can’t help but ask, even while he dreads the hurt in Connor’s eyes. “And if I say no?”

Connor’s expression doesn’t change, but his LED aches red. “Then I return the uterine model I purchased and halt my progress on choosing egg samples. And that will be the end of it.”

Hank nods. Connor reaches up and holds his hands against his chest, closing his eyes.

“It will hurt,” Connor says. “But I will not argue if you say no. If you don’t want this, then I won’t force you. And I will overcome my feelings, in time, so please do not take them into account, Lieutenant.”

“How can I not, Con?” Hank murmurs. “I want you to be happy.”

“Well, then know that what _I_ want is for you to be happy,” Connor insists. “If you just go along with this to make me happy, it’ll hurt worse in the long run than the simpler matter of adjusting to a childless family. After all, I will still have you. That is more than enough. So please make this decision for yourself, Hank. You already know my feelings on the matter. I can wait.”

Hank nods, rubbing the side of his face. “I…yeah. I got you, Con. I just—“

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s—thank you, Connor.” Hank sighs and tucks his hair behind his ear. “You handled this really well, you know? Just reminded me how lucky I am to have you.”

Connor smiles, wide and warm. “That’s a relief. I feel much the same, Hank.”

He lets Hank sweep him up into a tight hug, laying his head on his shoulder and sighing in pleasure, eyes closed. Hank buries his face in Connor’s hair, rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand.

“So. You really think you’d be up for planning a wedding, kid?” Hank teases.

“I have already narrowed down potential venue lists and catering menus, as well as three potential _patisseries_ we could procure a cake from, rings from five different jewelers that I thought might suit your tastes, and tuxedos tailored to our exact measurements. And I designed invitations as well, though I left the date blank.”

Hank closes his eyes and groans, but there’s a grin on his face. “Connor, Jesus Christ almighty.”

“Well, if you simply wanted to go to City Hall and make it official, I would not be adverse to that either,” Connor says.

Hank considers the option in the silence. His hand slips from the nape of Connor’s neck to the small of his back, his fingers pressing down gently.

“Let’s keep that one on the back burner for awhile, Con,” he says. “But I think City Hall doesn’t sound half bad.”

“I will download the paperwork immediately.”

“’Back burner,’ Con.”

“Oh, I know. But it’s good to be prepared.”

Hank sighs and smiles, kissing Connor’s forehead. “S’pose so, kitten. Lemme finish dinner, and then we can just relax on the couch, yeah? Done enough preparing for one day, I think.”

Connor relaxes and nods. “I agree.”

The night passes by in quiet and comfort after that, and while Hank remains mostly silent as they watch sitcom re-runs together, Sumo sleeping off his recent walk in his bed, Connor doesn’t push. It’s nice to just lay in Hank’s lap and have his hair petted, his eyes half-closed and his scans idly monitoring the gentle rhythm of Hank’s heartbeat.

“Con? We should sleep.”

“I’m not really asleep when we’re in bed together, you know. It’s just standby.”

“Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me. C’mere,” Hank says, scooping Connor up into his arms and carrying him down the hall and into the bedroom, pausing to give Sumo a goodnight pet with his foot, carefully holding onto Connor until he can set him down onto the bed with a soft thud. Connor whines and pulls Hank down with him, kissing him and nuzzling against him when Hank breaks the kiss.

“Gotta shower and shave, kitten. Not yet.”

Connor whines in protest, but settles down to wait with that token complaint registered, timing Hank’s routine as usual. This time, it takes twenty-five minutes, and Connor frowns, internally adjusting his average time for Hank’s routine.

When Hank returns to bed, Connor doesn’t mention the time discrepancy; he just lets Hank pull him into a cuddle and sighs in pleasure, closing his eyes.

“You? Going to sleep without trying to get a ride in on my dick? Now I know you’re really letting me think this one over,” Hank teases, ruffling Connor’s hair. Connor kisses his shoulder.

“It is a sacrifice not to have you inside of me, but for your well-being, I would perform any number of sacrifices,” Connor promises. “That said, I’ve cleared our schedule for our upcoming day off. Don’t plan on leaving this room, Hank.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Hank sighs and grins down at Connor. “You’re really something, kid. Go on standby or whatever you do now, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Mmn,” Connor agrees, taking Hank’s hand in his own and kissing his fingertips as his LED goes from cerulean to a pale, shining silver, pulsing like a heartbeat while Connor’s eyelids slip shut.

Hank waits until a few cycles of Connor’s heartbeat-LED to stroke his thumb over Connor’s lips and sigh, gently sliding him onto his side so that he can sit up and watch Connor at rest. God knows he’s not going to sleep with everything going through his mind.

His son’s room weighs heavy in the way his house settles that night, and Hank’s heart aches. Still, he promised Connor he’d think it over, and so he will.

The question is disarmingly simple; does he want another child? The answer is that he’s still unsure. The question shifts to clarify; does he want _Connor_ to have a child? _His_ child?

That…he’s slightly more capable of grasping. Because, yeah. He’s not gonna lie to his own thoughts that the idea of Connor stretched out on his cock and whimpering for his cum, but knowing this time it’s gonna lead to a baby growing inside him is—well. God, that’d be something. It’s the ‘everything else’ alongside that something that’s giving him pause.

Hank considers. The thought of taking care of Connor through his pregnancy, taking care of the baby with him afterwards—teaching Connor how to care for such a new, fragile little creation—the idea soars in his heart and builds to a lump in his throat, a crescendo of need and want.

It had ended so painfully the first time. But—did it have to be that way again? Could he just…not move on, or forget, of course, but—could he try again?

For Connor—

A little nagging voice in his head that reminds him of Connor says, _He told you not to consider what_ he _wants, Hank. What do_ you _want?_

He wants Cole back. More than anything in the world, he wants Cole back, for life to be like it was seven years ago, for everything to be the same as it was, but safer and warmer and surer.

Still. He can’t _have_ that. He might _want_ it, but he’s climbed far enough out of the pit he’d dug himself into over the past seven years to admit that no matter how deep he digs, he’s not getting back there. He can’t leave Cole behind, but he can’t go back, either. He has to move forward. And now he _can_ move forward, because he has Connor. So if he makes this choice, if he allows himself the chance—

“Yes.”

The word slips out and startles him out of his half-awake daze. The moon is high overhead and makes Connor’s skin glow silver as his chassis sleeping beneath.

Could he try again? Could he really raise a baby with Connor?

Maybe he doesn’t have an answer, and he’ll never know for sure, but he’s all right with that. He _is_ going to try.

Hank shakes Connor’s shoulder gently. “Con? Wake up! Yes, I said—yes, okay? Let’s do it. I’m scared out of my fucking mind but I want this, Con, I want this so fucking bad if you’re still ready to—“

Connor’s eyes snap open and Hank realizes in a split second how easy it must’ve been for Connor to forget about the space between sleep and waking because he is _awake,_ his whole body trembling with pleasure as he takes Hank’s hands and places them against his stomach. Hank thinks about his baby resting safe and sound in there, and any lingering doubts skitter to the shadows before the rush of love and desire that rocks him at the idea. They’re well and firmly ushered out entirely by the look on Connor’s face as Hank lifts his eyes to meet his gaze.

“You—you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Hank says. “I want this. Not just because you want this, but because _I_ want to have this. I mean, I wanna have it—the baby—I wanna have a baby with _you,_ but you get it, right?”

Connor kisses him smack on the mouth and Hank grins into it, nuzzling noses with him when Connor pulls away to laugh with delight. “Okay. Guess you do.”

“Oh, _Hank,”_ Connor says, squeezing his hands. “There’s no one else I’d rather have a baby with, you know. There’s no one else in the world I can think of who would keep our baby safe and loved like you will. I’m so, so excited, I—“

He kisses Hank again and doesn’t mention the tears that register in his mouth analysis. Hank’s still trying to blink them away when Connor pulls back, only to be pulled into a tight hug.

“You know something, sweetheart? I really needed to hear that,” Hank admits. “You’re too good for me, Con.”

“No I’m not,” Connor promises. “How can that be possible when you’re all that’s good in my life?”

An indignant whuff interrupts them, and Connor and Hank lift their heads to see Sumo standing in the doorway, his big shaggy jowls waggling accusingly at Connor. He laughs and beckons to the dog, letting Sumo climb into bed with them.

“Aside from you, Sumo. But you’re here because of Hank as well, you know,” Connor chides him, leaning down to kiss his velvety forehead. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“I—I need to return to standby,” Connor admits, glancing aside, his cheeks a soft cerulean. “Especially since, ah—since you and I have decided that this will be happening, I need to ensure all my systems are prepared for the uterine attachment. Will you be all right if I fall back asleep?”

“Yeah, kitten. Before you do, can you, uh…send me your…whatever the hell you were doing with those egg implants?” Hank gestures vaguely. Connor nods, and his LED glows like the sun for a second before a little message pings on Hank’s tablet. He smiles and kisses Hank’s cheek, still trembling all over with delight.

“I love you, Hank.”

“Love you too, Connor,” Hank promises, stroking his side. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Connor sighs in bliss and settles into the bed, his LED shimmering silver, catching the gleam of the moon outside.

Hank, heart singing with trepidation and love in aching harmony, watches Connor at rest for a few minutes more before he picks up his tablet and starts to skim over the genetic database Connor had sent him.


	5. Plug and Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor installs his upgrades. Hank has a little fun with his wiring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for being so excited to read this fic! It makes me so happy to write it. There's a bit of bonus wireplay this chapter, if you're into that!

The uterine attachment and its accompanying egg samples don’t arrive for another two days, but that’s all right, because their next shared day off isn’t until three days after _that,_ and Connor’s so eager to get home and install the attachment that he’s already got his chest cavity open in the car as Hank pulls into the driveway. Hank swats his hand away from his wires and gives him a stern look.

“Hey, don’t you dare, you’re not getting whatever the hell is in this car up near your wiring, kid. Go inside and get the goddamn attachment before you start pulling your guts out.”

“Way ahead of you!” Connor practically flings himself out the car, skipping up the steps and sprinting inside, giving Sumo a cursory head-scratch before scrambling into the bedroom, where the attachment has sat in its box, and shouldering the bathroom door open before having a seat against the counter, fingers already tangled up in his wires.

“Con, wait!” Hank closes the door behind him, ruffling Sumo’s ears as he approaches the bathroom. “Hey, uh, can I—you all right if I watch you do this?”

“Oh, Hank, I’d be honored,” Connor sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

“Why not? You’re having my baby, I’m gonna be there the whole goddamn time,” Hank says, and the leap in his throat feels like falling from a skyscraper. He swallows around the fall and shivers in anticipation and terror, walking into the bathroom and stopping in front of Connor’s prone, naked body, watching his fingers at work inside of his own wires.

“You’re incredible, you know that? I don’t even know how you do this, kid.” Hank pulls his hair back into a ponytail so he can watch Connor adjust his wires better. “You all right?”

“I’m completely fine, this doesn’t hurt,” Connor promises. “Actually, can you do me a favor? Where my index finger is, do you see a port edged in purple?”

Hank stares into Connor’s wiring, brow furrowed. “Think so.”

“Please be certain, Hank, I don’t want to put this where it isn’t needed.”

“Then move your finger, brat,” Hank grumbles, reaching into Connor’s wiring without thinking and lifting his finger aside. “Yeah. That’s purple.”

Connor moans, and Hank has a second to register what he’s done before he freezes up, his hand stiff and still, too afraid to pull it out.

“Oh, I—I’m so sorry, it’s—it’s just, I haven’t had anyone else touch my wiring since I was built,” Connor explains, his face bright blue. “I can feel you inside of me, Hank, right down to the ridges of your fingertips, and it’s amazing…”

“That right? Good, I’m glad. You feel incredible,” Hank admits. “Never touched anything like this before, to be honest. You uh…you mind if I help you fit this in?”

“Oh, _Hank,”_ Connor sighs in bliss. “Yes, please do. If you’re not afraid, I’ll guide you.”

“Only thing I’m afraid of is hurting you,” Hank promises. “You don’t scare me, kid. I love seeing this side of you. It’s been a lot to learn, but I love you, yeah? S’no trouble. Now hand the thing over.”

“It’s a uterine port, Hank.”

“Yeah, that thing,” Hank grumbles, taking it from Connor and examining the cord attached. “So what now?”

“Plug the cord into the purple port you found. It’ll start syncing up to my biocomponents, and once I install its accompanying executables, it will function alongside my original biocomponents with little fuss.”

Hank’s fingers slip in between Connor’s wires, and Connor moans in pleasure, his LED flickering gold as Hank rubs his thumb along one of the thicker wires connected to his thirium port. His fingers reach deeper inside of Connor, searching for the ridge of the port, and once he finds it, he traces his fingers over the little rim.

He’s not expecting a response, but he gets one; Connor whimpers, his hand reaching out to grab Hank’s by the wrist. Hank grins up at Connor as he vibrates in pleasure, his wiring humming to life around Hank’s fingers.

“Feel good, kitten?” Hank murmurs. Connor nods, still holding tight onto Hank’s wrist.

“I—yes, I,” Connor’s whole body pulses, his wires contracting around Hank’s fingertips. “I’ve never had anyone play with my wiring, I didn’t—I didn’t know it would feel like this, I’ve never been awake for. This. Oh, Hank, I—“

“Ssh, ssh, you’re all right, let me help you,” Hank soothes him. He picks up the cord and plug for Connor’s uterine attachment and slips it into Connor’s wiring, two hands deep into the twitching, contracting mass. Connor’s still gently vibrating, his skin sliding away from his chassis until his entire chest is pale, chrome and cold, in sharp contrast to the flush on his face and the desperate light in his eyes.

“You look so good like this, kitten,” Hank soothes him. “How’s it feel?”

“Your hands are so big,” Connor whimpers. “Oh, god, you—you’re—you could hold my thirium pump in your hands. Cover it completely, keep my heart for your own—“

“Not a chance, it’s gotta stay where you need it,” Hank insists, but there’s a grin on his face. “You already gave me your heart, Con. That much is obvious. You don’t have to do it literally, you know.”

“I know, but,” Connor’s wires expand and then contract, his biocomponents heating up as Hank’s hands reach deeper inside of him. He’s slicked up to the wrist with thirum and lubricant, Connor’s systems wet and ready for his touch the further his fingers go. “You’re—I, it’s—hard to focus with you inside me, ah, uh, Hank—“

“You’re not gonna shut down if I keep doing this, right?” Hank asks.

“No, I—I’m fine, I—I might reset, but that’s! Good! It means the modification to my systems was successful, oh _please_ touch that wire you’ve got your left index finger on? Hook it over your finger and pull on it a little, please—“

“You’re so needy, sweetheart,” Hank teases, but he does as he’s told and watches all the wires underneath Connor’s chassis flare up bright beneath his skin, a moon river that shines so bright the slick on Hank’s hands shines silver too. Connor groans in bliss, and when Hank glances down, his cunt is slick, his dick throbbing. “Already wet for me like this? Cute.”

“I’m—I can’t help it,” Connor whines. “Please, Hank, plug it in already—“

Hank rubs his thick fingers against the little bundles of Connor’s wires, bound together like flower bouquets, wrapped up tight and branching outwards. “You sure? You seem to like having my hands inside you.”

“I do, but,” Connor’s whole body vibrates again, twitching under Hank’s touch. “It’s overwhelming, I feel so—yours. Like down to my biocomponents I belong to you.”

“You’re your own man, Connor,” Hank insists, slipping the plug further inside of Connor, carefully holding the uterine port in his free hand. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, and I told you that I choose to belong to you of my own volition, Hank. I remember the entire conversation and can play it back at any time.”

Hank huffs and leans in, pressing a kiss to Connor’s arc ring, just above where his chest plating slides open. Connor moans in bliss, shuddering as Hank nips at the chassis, his fingers sinking into silicone.

“Brat,” he scolds him. “But I guess it’s good you get used to it now, yeah? Once you’re pregnant, everyone’s gonna know you belong to me, Con.”

“Oh,” Connor whimpers. “Yes, I—I suppose you’re right. Everyone will be able to see, won’t they? I’m so excited, Hank. I want everyone to see your baby inside me and know I belong to you, please, I—“

Hank hushes him as he starts to vibrate and twitch with bliss, gently placing the uterine attachment into the nest of Connor’s wires. His free hand slips down to rub at Connor’s dick as he slots the plug into Connor’s port, and Connor pulses with the force of his orgasm rocking him, desperate to keep still so he doesn’t dislodge the uterine attachment. His hands grasp the rug for dear life, his LED bright red as he throws his head back and lets his orgasm wrack his taut, stiff body.

“You know, I guess I could get used to the idea,” Hank soothes him, petting his hair and kissing his forehead. “You really wanna be mine, Connor?”

“Always, always, always,” Connor chants, his voice weak and wet with post-orgasm bliss. “Hank, I love you. It makes me feel safe to belong to you. Is that all right?”

“More than all right, sweetheart,” Hank soothes him. “After all, that’s why you’re letting me make a baby in you, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” Connor sighs, leaning his head on his shoulder and watching Hank through heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you excited for everyone to see me carrying your baby, Hank?”

“Damn right, you know I am.” Hank cocks his head. “Gonna be honest, though, I’m still not quite sure how this is supposed to work. I mean, I get the job on my end; I’m gonna fuck you full of my cum, yeah? But after that I gotta say, I’m a little lost.”

Connor blushes, glancing aside. “Oh, that’s—certainly one way of describing your role, yes. But as for mine, it’s still rather easy. Now that the attachment has been plugged into my systems, I can update my programs accordingly and allow it to run. It’s got some actual biological attributes, of course, all carefully pre-synthesized by CyberLife. Our eggs are already inside the attachment, along with all the necessary biological fluids for our child’s healthy growth.”

Hank furrows his brow. “So what, I gotta jizz directly into your womb or something?”

“ _Hank,”_ Connor sputters. “No! I mean. Um. It’ll go through my vagina as usual, and then pass through the cord and be examined by my software for viability. Then it’ll fertilize my egg, and I’ll…I’ll be pregnant.”

He puts his hand against his thirium pump port and blinks. “I’ll be pregnant. Yes. I—I’m still finding it difficult to wrap my head around, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well, that part makes sense to me,” Hank says. “Any place this thing has to go in particular?”

“It’ll be safe nestled inside the main network of my wiring, I’ll hook it up to my thirium pump to keep it stable and working smoothly,” Connor says. “Lift it up just a little, that’s it—right there, Hank! You can let go.”

Hank removes his blue-stained hands from Connor’s chest and presses his chest panels shut again. He leans down and gives Connor’s belly a kiss, laying his forehead against the moon-colored skin of Connor’s chassis as Connor’s LED blazes like the sun, processing the new biocomponent.

“Have you told Nines?”

“Not yet. I don’t want to tell him until the baby’s safe and sound inside me,” Connor sighs. “Genetically modified embryos have a .004% chance of miscarriage, but I’ll be carefully monitoring them every second for the first six weeks to ensure absolute safety.”

“They’re gonna be just fine,” Hank promises. “They got you, yeah? You’re gonna keep them safe.”

“So are you,” Connor says, stroking Hank’s hair. “You always keep _me_ safe, don’t you?”

Hank nods, getting up and lifting Connor up off the sink, carrying him into the bedroom and setting him down gently. “You tell me when you’re done installing all the upgrades, okay?”

“I will, I promise,” Connor agrees. “Just stay here with me, please? I’d like to keep you close while I do this.”

“You got it, kitten,” Hank sighs and stretches out, kicking his shoes off and letting Connor help him out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor. He lays down with his head in Connor’s lap, letting Connor pet and play with his hair as he quietly processes his new upgrades.

“Con?”

“Mm?”

“You still wanna make a baby on the kitchen table, huh?”

Connor’s face glows pale blue. “Well, I—I’m not sure, um—“

“The thing about making a baby is,” Hank promises him, kissing his stomach, his hand creeping up to stroke Connor’s thigh, “you gotta be spontaneous, sweetheart. Wherever I pick you up and decide to take you, that’s where you’re getting fucked and filled, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” Connor sighs. “But wherever it is, it’ll be tomorrow, right? Please, I’ve missed our lovemaking so much—“

“I know, I know.” Hank lifts his head up and presses a kiss to Connor’s lips. “Don’t worry about that, baby. One way or another, I’m breeding you full of my cum tomorrow, and that’s a fucking promise.”

Connor whimpers in bliss, recording Hank’s promise and playing it back to himself as he finishes installing the final programs for his uterine attachment, the new biocomponent pulsing with his thirium.


	6. The Old Fashioned Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank get back down to brass tacks when it comes to making a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we're about 12k into a fic about Hank breeding Connor and have now finally gotten to the part where he, you know, does that. If for some reason you're not reading this fic for the smut, uh...skip this chapter? If you're here for that sweet sweet breeding kink tho, settle in and enjoy. <3

The next morning, Connor wakes from standby and immediately rolls over to nuzzle his face into Hank’s shoulder, kissing the soft slope and sighing in pleasure. He traces his fingers over Hank’s chest tattoo, vibrating them gently until Hank’s eyelids flutter, opening slowly and focusing in on Connor’s smile, and the pale cyan glow of his LED light shining in the morning light.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Hank mumbles, leaning forward a little to nuzzle noses with him. Connor purrs in pleasure, slinging a leg over Hank’s hips and sitting up, straddling him and putting his hands over Hank’s tattoo, his fingers splayed out and his smile bright.

“Hi, Hank,” Connor replies, petting his hair and toying with it in his fingers, curling it around his fingertips. “You need me to shave your face today?”

“Aw, you like a little stubble burn, don’t you?” Hank reaches up to pat Connor’s cheek. “You know I can shave myself, right?”

“Yes, but I like to take care of you,” Connor hums, snuggling into Hank’s touch. “You can’t tell me you haven’t appreciated the hair care treatment I’ve devised for you.”

“Forgot this mop could look so nice, yeah,” Hank sighs. “Okay, c’mon. Let’s go shower then, pumpkin.”

Connor sighs in pleasure, climbing out of bed and dropping his panties in the bathroom, stepping into the shower and turning the water on. He gasps, staticky and soft, when Hank slips in behind him, wrapping a hand around Connor’s waist and pulling him close, kissing his neck.

“Hank,” Connor whines, “please, wait—at least wash your hair first—“

Hank laughs, slipping his fingers down to stroke at Connor’s dick, fondling it and rolling it between his fingers while Connor tenses up and vibrates in pleasure. “You wet for me, kitten?”

“That—that’s not the point, I, oh,” Connor moans as Hank rubs the head of his dick, his fingers sliding down to slip into Connor’s front hole. “Oh, please, I—I’ve been so good, Hank, fuck me please—“

“Just a couple of fingers rubbing your dick and you’re already begging me to get fucked? Jesus, you’ve gotten greedy with this dry spell,” Hank tuts, a smile of amusement warm and plain on his face. “Thought you wanted me to wash my hair first.”

Connor whimpers. “I do, and now I’m regretting it.”

Hank snorts, scooting him aside and grabbing the shampoo bar off the wire rack Connor had installed for him. “Why don’t I take care of this? Pretty sure you can find some other way to entertain yourself until I’m done.”

Connor slides to his knees with a blissful sigh, licking at Hank’s cock, sliding his tongue down the shaft before nursing briefly at Hank’s balls, sucking and kissing them before going back to stroking Hank’s erection until it was full, red, and leaking everywhere. Hank raises an eyebrow, washing shampoo out of his hair with a huff.

“Not exactly what I meant, but I can’t say I’m complaining,” he sighs. “Where’d you put that new conditioner, Con?”

Connor pulls his mouth off of Hank’s dick with a wet pop, puckering his swollen lips. “Next to the soap that smells like sandalwood and bergamot.”

“Got it, thanks,” Hank says, grabbing both. Connor hums in bliss around Hank’s shaft, entertaining himself with the throbbing girth until Hank’s tugging gently on his hair, urging him up. Connor coos in protest, squirming as Hank pulls him off his cock, panting in pleasure as Hank hauls him up for a kiss.

“C’mon, kid. Washed and dried, let’s go. Gonna make me coffee?”

“Yes, of course. And you know what? I was just reminding myself of how much I love your stubble, Hank.”

Hank snorts. “You do when you’re too horny to focus on anything but my dick, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I can’t _help_ it,” Connor whines, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist, padding out into the hallway. “It’s so much, knowing I have my own womb now, all ready to be filled up with your cum so we can make our baby. I’m so excited I just—oh, _Hank_!”

“Me too, me too, it’s okay.” Hank ruffles Connor’s hair while he whistles for Sumo, adjusting his robe tie with his free hand. “Gonna let Sumo out for a little bit, kitten. You make coffee and I’ll take care of the puppy, yeah?”

“I want you to take care of _me,”_ Connor whines, and Hank kisses him lightly on the mouth.

“I will, I promise. You’ll have me all day, baby, any way you want me, okay?”

Connor sighs in pleasure and sinks against Hank for just a second before letting Hank brush past him and open the kitchen door, letting Sumo out into the yard. He pads into the kitchen to start the coffee maker, humming to himself and sighing in pleasure as he listens to Hank’s heartbeat, adjusting his auditory receptors to take in the sound. It’s a little elevated—he’s excited. Connor’s thirium pump whirrs briefly in his chest.

He checks the status of his uterine attachment again and beams to himself as he pours out Hank’s coffee, setting it on the counter and rifling through the fridge for a packet of Thirium. He breaks the seal and pours it out into a mug, taking a few careful sips before sitting down at the table.

Hank comes back in with Sumo tagging along behind him, and the tent Connor can still see in his robe folds makes his whole body tremble with need. Hank tuts at him, picking up his coffee and holding the mug in his hands.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, baby,” Hank sighs, rubbing one huge hand over the thick, warm expanse of his thigh. “You done with your drink, Con? Wanna come sit over here while I finish mine?”

Connor knocks back the rest of his Thirium in one short swallow, dropping his towel and climbing onto Hank’s lap with a whine of relief, sheathing his cock and thrusting back against it, slow, languid movements of his hips working against Hank’s thighs.

Hank reaches down with one hand to rub idly at Connor’s dick, his free hand holding his coffee steady as he sips it. Connor’s forehead is pressed against his chest tattoo, and his LED throws scarlet light over the purplish inks, adding a shuddering depth to the scarred, worn piece.

Connor pants, shaking and moaning in bliss, his pussy fluttering tight around Hank’s cock, which is so thick it makes Connor forget there’s anything left below his waist except the stretch and throb of Hank’s cock pulsing warm and wet within him. Connor comes around it for the first time that day, a rough, quick orgasm that leaves him whining with need for another one as Hank takes a lingering, luxurious sip of his coffee to hide his smile.

“You’re so worked up you can’t even stop yourself, can you?” Hank sighs, setting the coffee mug down with a little ceramic clink. “Can’t even come until you’ve got something inside that pussy of yours, poor baby. Just how you were built, right? But you usually wait until I’ve come.  What’s up this time?”

“Oh, oh—pre-cum is enough to trigger something small,” Connor whimpers, “It’s not enough, Hank, I’m still twitching and wet and it _hurts—“_

“You’re the one who’s so greedy I can’t even get some peace and quiet with my coffee, Con,” Hank chides him, picking up his mug again and taking a sip just to watch Connor sob. “Didn’t even leak from your dick, did you? Barely even an orgasm. Just a quick reminder that you’re my needy little brat. My perfect, precious little slut.”

Connor moans in bliss, iridescent drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as he tosses his head back, one leg kicking out as Hank thumbs at his dick, rubbing the tip in circles.

“There you go. That’s it, baby, that’s it. You’re still so empty, aren’t you? And you wanna be full more than ever, don’t you, Connor? Now that you’ve got a place for our baby to grow?” Hank presses a kiss to his forehead. “You wanna be fucked full, don’t you?”

Connor gulps for air, his thirium pump pulsing in his chest. Hank kisses him again, light and gentle across his lips. “C’mon, Connor. Asked you a question.”

“Want,” Connor whines. “Want, want, want—“

“Want what, baby?” Hank’s grin is a wicked flash, curving across his face. “I’m not a mind reader, honey. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you.”

Connor ruts mindlessly against Hank’s hips, rubbing up against him and panting. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, _Hank—“_

“This isn’t just a good fuck, baby,” Hank promises, spreading Connor’s legs wider. “I’m gonna breed you, yeah? Pump you full of my cum and make a baby in your belly, just like you wanted. Tell me how much you want it, Con.”

Connor whines, broken and staticky. “Breed me, please, oh god Hank fill me up already I’m so empty and I need you to make me _full—“_

“Well,” Hank murmurs, “since you asked so nicely.”

Connor’s set his pussy to vibrate around Hank’s cock, and he’s milking it for all he’s worth, rutting against Hank for a few more desperate, sweat-soaked seconds before Hank’s burying his face into Connor’s shoulder, biting down with a grunt as he pumps Connor full of his cum, finishing his first orgasm of the day with a satisfied sigh. Connor’s shaking when Hank lifts his teeth from his skin, but he manages to flash Hank a little smile.

“I think,” Connor pants, “our first session was a success!”

Hank stares at him for a second before dissolving into laugher, Connor snuggling against him with a satisfied little sigh. Hank presses kisses along his forehead and nuzzles noses with him.

“You could say that,” Hank concedes. “C’mere, spread your legs. Wanna make sure you didn’t miss any.”

Connor opens his legs up for Hank, who swipes the cum that’s oozed out between his cock and Connor’s soaked cunt, and as he slides out of Connor he sticks his fingers back in, fingering Connor with his fingers covered in his own cum. Connor moans in pleasure, low and fluttering, as Hank kisses his face.

“We’re gonna break the chair if we do this again in here,” Hank murmurs. “Why don’t we find a more comfortable spot for our second session? You know. To make sure the first one stuck.”

Connor sighs in bliss, letting Hank lift him up and hooking his legs around Hank’s waist as Hank carries him back into the bedroom.

“Oh, wait,” Connor sighs, nuzzling into his throat. “Didn’t I say I’d shave you?”

“Babe, you’re too fucked out and we’ve barely started,” Hank tuts. “Likely thing is, you’re gonna be useless for anything but fucking today, aren’t you?”

Connor trills against him, spreading his legs open wide as Hank lowers him onto the bed. Hank huffs, grinning. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It can wait until tomorrow, baby. Everything else but you can wait until tomorrow.”

Connor moans in pleasure as Hank climbs on top of him, kissing his way down his body, nipping at the tender skin around his thirium pump and making Connor squeal, the arc ring flickering silver-blue as Hank’s lips graze against it. Hank kisses his way down further, pressing his lips against Connor’s damp, slick vulva and nuzzling against his dick, sucking idly on it as he rolls it between his fingers.

Connor twitches and shakes, his thighs trying to close together on reflex, so overstimulated he can barely do anything but squirm and moan piteously when Hank growls against his thigh and holds them both open with his big, sturdy hands, his fingers digging into Connor.

“Ah ah, kitten,” Hank scolds him, lifting his slick mouth away from Connor’s cunt. “You’re the one who wanted to be full so bad, baby. You’re gonna stay open for me even if I have to tie you down to do it.”

Connor moans so loud it starts to break down into whirring, a click coming from his throat as his vocal components reboot themselves. Hank laughs quietly to himself and kisses the tip of Connor’s dick, pulling away to lift his legs up and over his shoulders, Connor pliant and shivering.

“Feels like we should do this traditionally, just the once,” Hank remarks, nudging his hips closer, his cock already hard again, bobbing between his legs and brushing against the back of Connor’s thigh. Connor weeps with need, blue-hued fluid sliding from his tear ducts and soaking into the pillow. Hank sighs and leans down, kissing his forehead before grabbing Connor by the hips and pulling him in close, his hips meeting Connor’s ass with a thick, wet sound that makes them both cry out.

“God, honey, fuck,” Hank pants, sucking in a breath, “fuck me, you’re so tight, so wet already, so full—“

“Not enough,” Connor whines, his trembling hands reaching down to press against his tummy, inching down lower to rub the heel of his palm against the bulge of Hank’s dick. The feeling of it against him and inside him is enough to make him come around Hank’s cock again, tears running down his face as he gasps and cries out. “Not enough, not enough, more Hank more _please—“_

“Did you come again, kitten?” Hank grins, leaning forward and watching Connor’s face flush, his free hand coming up to hide his face. Hank grabs it and lifts it away, winding their fingers together. “Don’t lie to me, angel.”

“Yes,” Connor whispers. “Please, I—I want, I want I _can’t—“_

Hank drops Connor’s hand to press his dick between his fingers, slowly rolling it between his thick, callused fingertips. “Can’t what, baby?”

Connor’s jaw goes slack, and whatever he was going to say slips away from him as Hank’s thumb rubs his tip in a rough circle. He comes again with a needy, deep-throated gasp, his face and shoulders flushed blue, spilling down to his chest. Hank thrusts harder against him, lifting his hand from Connor’s dick. “C’mon, kitten. Asked you a question.”

Connor makes a staticky, strained noise in response. Hank sighs and slips a finger into Connor’s cunt, right up alongside his cock, and Connor’s sclera flash bright blue, another series of clicks coming from his vocal components. Hank can’t help but laugh, fingering Connor through his taut, vibrating aftershocks.

“You’re such a slut, you know that?” Hank says, his voice gentle and amused. “Jesus, kitten. We don’t fuck for a week and you’re coming every time I get my fingers on your dick. Is that shit programmed into you or something?”

“Nnh,” Connor offers, helpful as ever. Hank rubs tears away from his cheek with the heel of his palm, but Connor’s slick has coated his hand completely, so all it does is leave a shining smear of iridescent blue across his face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hank sighs, “how are you gonna handle being pregnant?”

The clicking in Connor’s throat stops. His LED flashes red, then soft yellow, and Connor’s gaze is suddenly struggling to focus on Hank’s face.

“If,” he gasps, his whole body still vibrating, “if—if you, don’t fuck me—if you won’t fuck me while I’m carrying your baby I’m going to get a dildo twice the size of you and just ride it _forever—“_

Hank snorts in amusement. “First, baby boy, they don’t make dildos twice the size of me. That’d kill people.”

“You’d be surprised,” Connor squirms against him. “Oh, oh—Hank, you had _better_ fuck me when I’m pregnant! I need—I can’t, I—oh, I’ll look so beautiful you won’t be able to help it—“

“You’re right,” Hank murmurs, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I won’t.”

Connor moans and grips him tight, his LED spiraling yellow as he puts it together. “Were you just teasing me?”

“Thought it might get your vocal systems back online if I gave you something to bitch about,” Hank says, and Connor just laughs.

Hank kisses Connor again, and when he breaks the kiss, this time Connor looks away, his LED throwing sunlight along the sky-blue blush spread across his face. “Hank?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“When I’m,” Connor shudders, swallows, “pregnant. You _will_ fuck me, won’t you?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hank sighs, taking Connor’s hand in his own and pressing it against the swell of his cock bulging against Connor’s tummy, “you won’t be able to keep me from filling your pussy, and that’s a fucking promise.”

Connor quivers around Hank’s cock and presses his hand down harder. “Oh, trust me, I won’t want to. You’re going to keep me full the whole time, aren’t you?”

“Gonna keep you full and fat with my cum and my baby,” Hank agrees, thrusting into Connor again, watching him shiver and twitch. “You’re getting some practice in already today, right? Fucked full of my cum like this, baby boy, you’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna lie in bed and take what I give you, Connor.”

“A _baby_ ,” Connor whines, weeping with need. “Oh, fuck me full of your cum, Hank, I need—I need to be all full with it, fuller than full—“

“Put your hand down harder on that bump, baby boy,” Hank says, and Connor obeys. “Feel that? That’s my cock in you, precious. Gonna fuck you so full you can’t move afterwards, all fat with my cum with your gaping, dripping pussy still twitching to get bred full of my baby—“

Connor sobs, his fingers’ skin sliding away to reveal shining white chassis. “Hank—Hank _please—“_

“So full, baby boy,” Hank murmurs, kissing his face. “You want more, Connor? Beg for it.”

“I need, I need, I _need,”_ Connor pleads, holding on tight. “Hank, fuck, fuck your _cum_ into me _Hank_ —“

He comes again, his whole body shaking with the force of it, and keeps the program going, his systems continuing to pulse and whirr with his orgasm past a point where Connor’s vision is hazy, his thirium pump shrieking in his chest and his internal sensors displaying dozens of warnings, but he dismisses each and every one, coming and coming around Hank’s cock until Hank kisses his trembling lips, nipping at them gently.

“You beg prettier’n anyone else I’ve ever seen,” Hank croons. “Can’t help but wanna fuck that pleading out of you, Con, y’know? You’re so good to me. So, so good, sweetheart. Stay open and spread your legs wider, Con.”

Connor does as he’s told and is rewarded with another gush of cum, Hank’s whole load pulsing out of him in spurts that slip between his cock and Connor’s cunt, making him soaked so silky-smooth and sloppy that Hank’s cock slips out of Connor, still half-hard and dribbling cum.

Connor whines in protest, his shaking hand gathering it up off Hank’s shaft and stick his fingers into his own cunt, soaked in Hank’s cum and reaching up to touch his dick, lubing it up with the pearl-bright remains. Hank whistles, low and proud, leaning back to watch his boy finger himself with his own cum as lube.

“You’re so damn messy, sweetheart,” Hank drawls, slapping his thigh lightly. “Hold yourself open ‘til I can plug you up, Con. Can’t have you losing any of that cum on me, kitten.”

“Oh,” Connor sobs as Hank rifles through their nightstand drawer and pulls out a bright pink plug, sliding it into his pussy with a wet, slick noise that makes Connor hide his face as it shines bright with shame. Hank tuts, slapping his thigh again.

“Don’t hide from me, kitten. You’re so cute I can hardly stand it, sweetheart.” Hank sits Connor up on the bed, cupping his cheeks. “I’m gonna go throw some stuff in the slow cooker so we can eat tonight, okay? You wait here for me, I won’t be long.”

“I can’t eat,” Connor whines, “and I want your cock, Hank, there’s hardly enough cum in me to make me pregnant—“

Hank glances down at the slick drooling out past Connor’s plug and dripping down his thighs and raises his eyebrows. Connor at least has the decency to blush, looking away.

“You could fuck me full of more, though,” Connor protests. “Oh, I know you could, Hank, your dick is so, so big and you’re so _strong_ and _big_ and I’m so, so little and wet and ready for you, I—I—“

He’s whimpering and rubbing his dick already, humping his hand as his fingers slip along the remains of Hank’s cum. Hank cups Connor’s chin, tilting his head up.

“I know you are, honey,” Hank reassures him. “You’re my precious little slut, aren’t you? I know you’re a needy little bitch. You have to trust me, Con. I’m gonna breed you full of my babies. Don’t worry about a thing. Just play with your dick and wait for me to finish up dinner, okay?”

Connor coos with need, his fingers shaking as he touches himself. Hank presses a gentle kiss to his trembling lips.

“You stay here and let my cum settle in you, baby boy. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Connor’s still rutting himself against one of their pillows, his fingers rubbing his dick, sobbing with need into the sheets as Hank leaves the room, the door open wide so he can hear Connor’s panting and moaning from down the hall as he throws a hasty beef stew into the slow cooker and slams the lid down, chugging a glass of water and throwing it into the sink, padding back towards his bedroom with his hand on his dick. He rubs his shaft and considers, brow furrowed.

“Con? How do you feel, baby boy?”

“Empty,” Connor whines around his own fingers in his mouth, shining with Hank’s cum as he forces them down his throat. “Need you, need to be _full—“_

“Fuck,” Hank groans, climbing back into bed. “You’re really gonna milk me for every last drop, aren’t you?”

Connor sighs in delight around his fingers as Hank pulls the plug out of his pussy, gathering the cum soaking Connor’s lips and stuffing it back into his cunt. He lifts Connor’s hand out of his mouth and presses the plug to his lips. “Clean it up, kitten.”

Connor sucks the toy clean of Hank’s cum with a blissful groan, falling forward on the bed so Hank can mount him from behind, rutting against him with renewed enthusiasm as Connor’s new breeding programs run inside him, making his chest whirr and his thirium pump pulse wildly.

“Con? You all right?” Hank asks, stilling in his thrusts when he feels Connor’s chest seize up, vibrating. Connor whines and grips the sheets.

“Just—just making sure it’s going through,” Connor whimpers, sucking hard on his lip. “It—it’s so much, Hank, I didn’t realize, it’s all inside me at once now, I—“

Hank lifts Connor’s chest up and puts his hand on Connor’s belly. He can feel the cum swelling up in his womb, making his wiring bulge against his chassis. Hank shudders, leaning down to kiss Connor’s shoulder. “Want me to stop?”

“Never,” Connor groans. “Oh, Hank, come in me until it leaks out of my womb, please—“

“That sounds pretty unsafe,” Hank teases, playfully rolling his hips against Connor’s ass and thighs. Connor turns around to give him a stern look—as stern as can be managed with drool and cum streaking his face and chin.

“You’ll keep me safe, Hank, regardless of the situation,” he insists, his face still and serious even as cum slides down his throat. “Now please fill me, my love, before I get overwhelmed again?”

Hank sighs and smiles, reaching down to tug playfully at Connor’s hair. “Well, all right. Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart.”

Connor pushes himself back against Hank’s thrusts as he’s hefted up into his arm, one huge hand splayed across the bulge of cum growing bigger in his tummy, pressing down on it and making Connor’s eyes flash bright white for a brief, blissful second as Hank leans down over him, still holding onto his stomach as he covers Connor’s back with his whole body, bearing down on him and biting his shoulder as he pumps another load of cum into Connor’s pussy, Connor’s dick pulsing and twitching just from the feeling of being filled again, and he comes undone, his dick red, aching and wet and swollen as his pussy, which is so full of cum that Hank’s dick slips out almost immediately, dripping cum from his previous orgasms back onto the bed.

“Ooh,” Connor pants, slumping forward, his hips wagging in the air, shaky and slick with Hank’s sweat. “Hank? Could you plug me up, please? There’s so much inside of me to process right now, but I don’t want to lose a single drop.”

“You won’t, sweetheart, I promise,” Hank soothes him, taking the plug from the blankets beside them and sliding it back into Connor, twisting it around to make sure it was sealed tight inside his sloppy, soaked cunt. “Lay down for me, okay? You’re overheating, Con, I can hear your processors whirring.”

“M’fine,” Connor exists, but he sinks under the blanket Hank spreads over his back with a grateful little whine, blinking up hopefully at Hank. Hank leans down and presses a kiss into his mussed hair.

“I’m gonna read a book in bed next to you, baby,” Hank promises. “You do what you gotta do now, okay?”

“I’m going to enter stasis mode so that the programs specific to assessing your genetic material can attend to the task without interruption,” Connor says, lowering his eyelids. “And when you finish your book, would you mind updating the registry? I didn’t have time to search for a proper bassinet.”

“Connor, Jesus,” Hank huffs, but Connor’s LED is already shining silver, a white dot turning around and around in a circle, a dog star chasing its tail. Hank clicks his tongue against his teeth and smiles, shaking his head and stroking Connor’s hair before he sets the book on his night stand aside and picks up his tablet, opening up the series of bookmarks Connor had created for their registry and searching for the perfect bassinet.


	7. Fully Ripe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank make sure yesterday's baby making took. Hank fusses some, and Connor talks it over with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more smut and Hank angst, which should just be the fic title at this point, really. Hope you all enjoy!

 Connor’s on standby for the rest of the night. Hank tries to perform his usual routine and settle down to sleep next to him, but he can’t help but shift and turn restlessly, anxiety gripping at his gut.

He sits up in bed and gives up on sleeping, staring down at Connor as his LED pulses a cool silver, still on standby. Connor’s whole body is still, and not even his aesthetic breathing programs are running. He has to put his hand against the pale glowing arc ring in his chest to feel his thirium pump still humming along, because his brain is firmly convinced he’s sleeping beside a corpse.

Connor will be fine, though. He has to be. There’s no way that this could go wrong. CyberLife wouldn’t be able to sell a uterine attachment that would kill androids, right? Or infect them with malware, or—wait, wasn’t Connor working with a WR400 model, because they didn’t make RK ones? Fuck, if he shut down—if he _died—_

Hank’s hand shakes as he presses it down against Connor’s arc ring. No, he can’t try to pull him out of standby. He might be making the whole situation worse. He doesn’t know, and he can’t talk to anyone that does, because he won’t ruin the surprise Connor wants to give Nines when this all works out—and it _will_ work out. Connor will be _fine_.

Hank sits next to Connor’s still body, and holds vigil beside him until the imminent dawn turns the sky silver around them, throwing ashy pale light across the room, bathing Connor’s body in the weak outlines of hopeful almost-light.

His LED softens from stone grey to blue just as the sun starts to peek over the horizon, and Hank lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Connor opens his eyes and smiles up at Hank, blinking slowly.

“Hank? You didn’t sleep. I can tell.”

“How could I?” Hank murmurs, stroking the side of Connor’s face. “Sweetheart, I thought you were never gonna wake up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Connor sighs, sitting up slowly. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern, Hank. It’s just—“

He looks aside, his face flashing pale blue. “Well, there was plenty of. Er. Genetic material in my system that was…ready for analysis. It took longer than I anticipated to sift through the…samples.”

Hank snorts, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “You mean you were asleep and organizing my cum?”

“Not organizing it, Hank. Subjecting it to genetic analysis and selecting the best available material to allow it to pass through the cord connecting my uterine port to my vaginal opening.”

“Jesus,” Hank sighs. “Did you, uh. Find the right stuff?”

Connor gives him a sly little grin. “It took a lot of careful consideration, but I believe I’ve selected the most appropriate material for insemination, yes.”

“Huh. Hot.” Hank raises his eyebrows and grins suggestively. “Wanna add a few more samples for analysis?”

“You have to sleep first,” Connor insists, gently urging Hank to lay down on his side in bed. “Oh, Hank. I’ll be all right. Please sleep?”

“Gotta go to work,” Hank grumbles.

“No you don’t, I already told Jeff that you and I were taking a day off,” Connor promises. “I think everyone knows we’re trying for a baby now.”

“Oh, god, do they? Fuck,” Hank presses his face into his pillow and sighs. “Con, at least let me take Sumo out quick.”

“I’ll do it, Hank!”

“No you won’t, you gotta stay here, you’re pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Connor insists. “I’m not made of glass!”

“For the next nine months you might as well be,” Hank retorts, getting out of bed. “We’ll talk about this later. I’m gonna go take Sumo out, sweetheart. Then I’ll come back to bed. Okay?”

Connor sighs and nods, watching Hank leave the room. By the time he returns his eyes are already half-closed and he falls asleep beside Connor before he’s hit the bed, barely managing to pull himself completely onto the mattress. Connor just leans over to adjust him into a proper sleeping position and pulls up the blankets around Hank, letting him sleep soundly while he brings up the baby registry on their tablet and consults Hank’s most recent additions.

…

Hank doesn’t wake up until it’s almost dinner time, and when he opens his eyes Connor already has a plate piled high with a turkey sandwich and freshly cut bell peppers waiting for him. He raises an eyebrow and gives Connor a look.

“You should be in bed.”

Connor huffs, hand on his hip. “Hank, do you intend to hook me up to a thirium drip and keep me in bed for the next nine months?”

“Yes. Come sit in my lap and lemme eat this quick, I wanna fill your pussy and make sure I bred you properly.”

Connor’s face flushes pale blue. “Oh. Well, if you’re sure, how could I refuse?”

Hank snorts with amusement through a mouthful of sandwich, hastily scarfing down a few more bites before pulling Connor into his lap and sliding his hand between Connor’s legs.

“Let me make this clear now, so we’re not fighting over it in six months,” Hank says. “I’m gonna be as upfront as I possibly fuckin’ can so I know you understand me, and as hard as that is, you’re worth it. So.”

“You’re planning to do that while you’re feeling up my thigh?” Connor remarks, a little smile on his face. Hank slaps his thigh and huffs.

“Don’t be a brat, it’s helping me focus,” Hank insists. “Con, look…”

He sighs and looks away. Connor’s LED glows gold, and he cocks his head to the side as Hank’s fingers flex over the skin of his thigh, nervous and searching for something to hold.

“You’re my everything, Connor,” Hank admits. “You saved my life. You made me want to be myself again. Go back to being the man I was.”

His hand slides up from Connor’s thigh to his stomach, pressing down lightly against it with his callused fingers. “And you—you’re carrying my baby. You’re gonna be in charge of the most important thing in our lives from now on, yeah?”

Connor nods, leaning his head on Hank’s shoulder. “Yes. I am. And it’s all I could possibly want, Hank.”

“Yeah. Right. I know, kitten.” Hank drums his fingers against Connor’s stomach. “But what I mean is, you gotta—you gotta take care of yourself. This isn’t like before, where if you got hurt, you could just—replace the parts, and, uh—“

Connor makes a soft, concerned noise. Hank rubs at his eyes with his free hand, taking a desperate breath. “You can’t. Replace our baby. Okay? And I know you’ve gotten better about understanding how important it is that you stay _you,_ but I really need you to know what that means now that you’re pregnant.”

“Nothing is going to happen to our child,” Connor insists. “You have my word, Hank. I will hold them inside of me and keep them safe, and you’ll keep _me_ safe. Isn’t that right?”

“Of course, Jesus,” Hank shakes his head. “But it’s—I just. You have to _let me,_ Connor. Please. I’m already scared for our baby and I don’t even know if you’ve actually made one yet.”

“If not, I will soon,” Connor sighs, smiling, leaning forward to kiss Hank’s throat, tender and gentle. “Hank? I understand. If you need to fuss, I will allow it. I…I will actually, in all likelihood, enjoy it. I want you to take care of me.”

“Always will, sweetheart,” Hank promises. Connor nods, spreading his legs to sit more comfortably on Hank’s lap.

“I know you will. But please, for right now, remember that I’m more than capable of basic tasks? At the very least. I will allow you to protect me, of course, for your sake and our child’s, but—I ask that you allow me to attend to some of the day to day simplicities of life.” Connor cocks his head, considering. “In fact, I believe a bit of light exercise is good for our baby, according to every child rearing magazine I’ve consulted.”

“I—yeah. But you gotta go out with Sumo. Or me. Or both. Actually, yeah. Both. Just—just god forbid, and you—people _know_ you, after that whole showdown with the feds back with Markus and Jericho and all that—what if someone tries to hurt you, or the _baby—“_

“Hank! Hank, you’re going to work yourself up into a panic attack. Please calm down and listen to me,” Connor soothes him. “All right. I will not go out unguarded. Once I’ve told Nines about our baby, I’m sure my brother will want to look after me as well. There is nowhere I could go that I would go unprotected.”

“I know, but,” Hank sucks in a breath. “Okay. I—I just. Jesus. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be good about this—“

“No, it’s okay! I love that you’re concerned. It makes me feel safe. I’m sure our baby will feel the same,” Connor says, and his throat flutters a little, clenching up. Hank smiles, leaning in to hold on tighter to Connor.

“I know you gotta…do stuff. And go to work. For now. But I just—I can’t lose you, Con. I can’t.” Hank runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “You can tell me if it’s too much, but for now I just—I just have to keep you safe. Okay? Because if anything happens to you or this baby I really will just fucking end my own life.”

“Hank!” Connor’s LED blazes like a pyre. “Don’t say that. Please.”

“It’s fucking true,” Hank insists. “But I’m not gonna die. I have all this to live for. Just—just let me do what I do best and protect that, okay? This is all I’m good for, Con. Keeping you and the baby safe—I have to do this.”

“And you will! But you’re good for so much more than that,” Connor sighs, nuzzling Hank. “Making me come, for one thing.”

Hank snorts, holding Connor tighter. “You little flirt. I make a mean stack of pancakes, too, I’ll have you know.”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t eat,” Connor teases, his eyes glimmering. “But I believe you, Hank. You’re so clever and capable and kind and good. How could I not?”

Hank sighs and kisses Connor’s forehead. “Yeah? I’m glad you think so, kitten. It keeps me going.”

Connor smiles and snuggles closer. He arches his hips up and rubs them against Hank’s thighs, and Hank rolls his eyes with a little huff, holding Connor’s thighs open and hefting him up with his massive hands, fingering into Connor’s cunt as Connor leaks and moans around him.

“Let’s make sure we do this right,” Hank murmurs in his ear. “One more time, baby. Let me hold you.”

Connor relaxes against Hank’s embrace, stretched out safe and sound and humming contentedly as he’s gently manhandled onto his tummy, Hank spreading his thighs open. Connor arches his back and displays his soft, swollen pale pink pussy, his tiny entrance already fluttering open around Hank’s huge fingers as he slips them in.

“Perfect,” Hank murmurs. “Look at you, all spread out for me like this, ready for me to breed you full of my cum. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Con—“

He cuts himself off to do something much more important, as far as Connor’s concerned, which is pull Connor back against his hips and onto his cock, mounting him with one sure stroke and settling in to fuck Connor with slow, steady thrusts, each one sending spasms up Connor’s pussy and making him tremble, moaning with need under Hank.

Connor lays out underneath Hank as Hank covers his lithe little body with his own sturdy bulk, pressing Connor into the mattress as he praises him, whispering in his ear.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Hank murmurs, “Your pussy’s like silk, sweetheart, I want to fill you up so fucking bad—“

“Please,” Connor whimpers. “Hank, I’ll do anything, I’ll be so, so good if you just—please, Hank—“

“Promise me,” Hank insists, working his hips deeper and pushing harder into Connor, “Promise me you’ll be good for me, sweetheart? Let me keep you safe, take such good care of you, all I want—“

“Yes,” Connor whines, bucking back against Hank. “Yes, I promise, I’ll be so, so good, I’ll always be good, you’re so strong and big, you’ll keep me so safe oh _Hank—“_

He comes around Hank’s cock again, milking Hank for his cum as he leaks helplessly against the sheets, pressed into the mattress to be fucked and filled. Hank fucks him through his orgasm and into another one, Connor keening with overstimulation as Hank rubs at his dick and makes him come again, his breath sputtering in stuttering, staticky hitches that match the irritated red flash of his LED, all of his systems protesting the overload as Hank works another orgasm out of him, Connor coming helplessly along the length of his cock and the way Hank fills him, covers him, his whole body pinning Connor to the mattress as Hank claims him.

“You’re mine,” Hank whispers in his ear, his words curled up like a cat’s paw, smug and sure. “You’re my little sweetheart, my precious little slut, coming all around my dick and crying for more, right? You’re all mine, Connor. Mine to take and mine to protect. Say it.”

“Yours,” Connor gasps, Hank thrusting harder into him. “Yours, yours, yours—Hank, _breed_ me already so everyone _knows,_ wanna have your baby, let everyone see how good you fucked me, made me yours and knocked me up, fuck, _Hank—“_

“Where’d you learn that kinda talk?” Hank grins, kissing his shoulder. “Naughty little slut. That’s fuckin’ adorable. You want me to knock you up, huh? Fuck a baby into your fat little tummy, all thick and round with my cum?”

Connor pants, nodding in agreement as Hank’s huge hand slides underneath him, pressed against his belly. “Yeah, you’re still full, aren’t you? Never cleaned out your systems. Still fat with my fuckin’ cum, baby. You already look pregnant like this, all full with my cum—“

Connor cries out as Hank holds onto him, biting his shoulder and kissing the faint marks he’s left, already fading. “Say it, Connor. I wanna hear you tell me again.”

“Please,” Connor whines, “fuck a _baby_ into me, Hank, knock me up and fuck me full I’ll do _anything_ please _please—“_

He sobs in relief when Hank finally unloads inside of him, growling and gasping against Connor’s shoulder as he bites into it, working through his orgasm. Connor can’t help but come again around Hank’s thick, twitching cock, still trying to milk it for another load of cum.

It takes a few minutes of teasing and sucking and fingering, but Connor’s rewarded with another round shortly after—Hank takes his sweet time with this one, and it’s quieter, warmer. They touch more than they talk, just feeling the other out, how full Connor feels with Hank’s cum or the softness of Hank’s hair as it brushes against Connor’s skin. When Hank comes again, Connor comes shortly after, shuddering in pleasure and squirming at the fullness between his legs.

“I’m going to have to clean my systems out at some point,” he protests vaguely, sighing in pleasure at Hank’s fingers inside of him. “Hank?”

“Not yet, you gotta scan this batch or whatever you do to decide this shit,” Hank says, hefting Connor up and holding onto him. “I’m gonna go back to sleep, I think. You’ll be on standby processing everything again, yeah?”

“Yes, Hank. Sleep next to me, and I promise I won’t go anywhere,” Connor says. “Sumo will look after me as well, won’t you, Sumo?”

From down the hall, Sumo boofs an agreement and Hank cracks a grin.

“Yeah, okay. See you in the morning, Con. And this time no milking my dick before a shave,” Hank insists, sinking down into sleep with a content sigh.

Connor scoots the blankets up around him and rests a hand on the nape of Hank’s neck as he sleeps, tilting his head back and sliding into standby, sifting through all the genetic information at his fingertips.


	8. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank go back to work. Hank watches Connor and plots ahead to pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this update!  
> Quick note, because it's come to my attention and I feel it's important to mention; this fic isn't tagged mpreg, and I don't plan on doing so. Trans men are men, and a trans man giving birth is a male pregnancy, but "mpreg" is the term for a larger fandom construct that often erases the experiences/existences of trans people, esp trans men, and I don't feel comfortable tagging this fic as such for very obvious reasons. I hope this clears things up for anyone who had questions/comments to this effect!

The next morning, they return to work and Hank tries valiantly to ignore the amused glances of everyone else in the bullpen as he sorts his current case files out. Connor’s too busy fielding requests to babysit to assist him at the moment, but it doesn’t bother him—gives him a minute to think.

When is he going to know? With humans it takes weeks, maybe even months. But Connor talked about it like he was so sure, like he already had a plan—he always does, damn it—and Hank’s body prickles in anticipation. Connor might know already. He still hasn’t cleaned himself out, which is—good? Bad? He’s not sure.

What he’s certain of is it means Connor’s still full up with his cum as he’s casually talking to his brother and Gavin, sitting on his desk and flipping his coin between his fingers—does that mean he’s processing? It usually does. Is Connor letting Hank’s cum fill his womb now, choosing what’s going to knock him up? Has he done it already? Are these just—what, routine calibrations? Seeing if the egg’s been fertilized yet?

Hank clenches his thighs and bites back the erection he can feel swelling up between his legs. He’s still got to get through work today, damn it.

He manages to file and archive his detectives’ reports, setting them aside and starting in on the current requests from the Red Ice task force for his assistance—the drug had been legalized, and people who had been arrested for possession were having their records expunged, but there were still cases that required processing, arrest records that needed to be expunged, and sifting between the cases that still need processing and things he can set aside occupies his every thought until Connor’s hands come to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Hank,” Connor murmurs. “It’s time to go home. Would you drive?”

“I—yeah, gotta get you home safe,” Hank mumbles, shaking himself out of his daze. “You okay? I know I was working a lot today—“

“Don’t apologize, that’s a good thing,” Connor says, taking Hank by the hand as they leave the bullpen and exit the precinct into the cool night air. “I spoke to Jeff today, actually. I was planning how best to transition into desk work, and then pregnancy leave.”

Hank sighs in relief, opening the door for Connor and helping him into the car. “You were? I’m glad, kitten. Didn’t wanna ask you about it, felt too…smothering.”

“No, I understand. Our baby’s safety comes first, and I don’t want you to be distracted from your tasks at work as well, which you would be if you had to fuss over me in the field,” Connor says. “I’m going to talk to Nines about how we can best utilize our connection to still allow me to provide assistance with what I’m required to do.”

“You’re not required to do shit but stay safe and take care of the baby, you got it? Don’t let anyone tell you different,” Hank insists. Connor cracks a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling up and making them glow.

“I know, Hank. But I still want to help. I will do it in a way I have calculated will not allow any harm to come to our child. I promise.”

“Yeah, all right,” Hank sighs, pulling out of the parking lot and back home. Connor’s fidgeting with his coin the entire drive, and Hank manages to hold back his question until they’re inside, Hank eating leftovers and Connor idly sipping another mug of thirium.

“Are you—have you been,” Hank gestures. “Can you tell? When the egg is fertilized, I mean.”

“Oh, I’ll know immediately,” Connor promises. “But…”

He trails off, glancing aside, still spinning his coin between his fingertips. “Do you—would you be amenable to—may I surprise you with it, Hank? I am aware this is the general procedure between expecting couples when both partners are human. And I would like this to be a surprise for you, I think.”

Hank exhales through his teeth, slow and relaxed. “You’ll tell me if anything goes wrong though, right?”

“Absolutely. I will be monitoring our baby every step of the way.” Connor’s still fidgeting with his coin. “To be honest, fertilization and the egg implanting itself against my uterine wall won’t fully occur for another month. So even when I know it’s been successful, I will have to wait as well.”

“Oh, yeah? God, it’s gonna be hard to wait that long,” Hank grins and shakes his head, taking another bite of dinner. “You gonna have to see a doctor, by the way?”

“No, Hank. I have everything I need right here, and our baby will be monitored constantly by my systems,” Connor promises, holding up the mug of thirium in his hand. “I am going to need to ingest more thirium over the coming months, however, to compensate for my processors working overtime.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Hank sighs. “Do they even have android doctors for this stuff?”

“Not exactly. If it puts you at ease, I can get in touch with CyberLife every so often during the pregnancy to ensure things are going according to plan. I am the first RK model to seek out pregnancy, and I’m sure they would want to study its progression.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a fuckin’ lab rat, and you’re only gonna let them check up on whatever needs to be checked, you got it?” Hank says. “Our baby isn’t their goddamn science project.”

“Oh, I know. They’re not going to do anything I don’t want them to, I promise,” Connor says, reaching down and wrapping a protective arm around his stomach. “I was assuming you would accompany me, of course.”

“Damn right I am, you’re not going anywhere near those fuckers without me,” Hank insists. Connor grins.

“I’m relieved, Hank. Now would you please hurry and finish your dinner? I would like to shave your face for you tonight before bed.”

Hank’s face flushes and he grumbles, glancing aside and hastily stuffing the last few bites of leftover stew into his mouth before putting it in the sink with a decisive thud. “Gotta take Sumo out for a walk first, honey. You good with waiting here, or do you wanna come for a walk?”

“I’ll stay here for tonight, there’s a few things I’d like to check up on and adjust,” Connor says. “I’ll call you if there’s trouble.”

“I know you will, I love you,” Hank says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Connor relaxes into the touch and smiles.

“I love you too, Hank,” he murmurs, letting Hank ruffle his hair before he whistles for Sumo, grabbing his leash from beside the door and clipping it to his collar, the two of them leaving with a decisive bang of the door, Connor still sitting at the kitchen table and scanning his own systems.

When Hank returns, Connor’s undressed for the night and sitting on the couch in one of Hank’s old, battered robes and nothing else, idly scrolling through their baby registry and adding more to the list. Hank snorts in amusement, taking Sumo’s leash off and hanging it up as Sumo trots over to Connor, climbing up onto the couch next to him.

“You’re pretty eager about updating that thing when we’ve still got nine months to go,” Hank teases.

“I want to give everyone a head start on buying things,” Connor says. “Plus, it’s helping me organize what we’ll need to buy. I’ve never provided for a human being like this before.”

“Yeah, well…I know what I’m doing, kitten. Promise I’ll show you the ropes. Just give it a bit of time, okay?” Hank says, holding his arms out. “C’mere, Con. Just let me hold you for now.”

Connor nods, setting the tablet aside and letting Hank take him into his arms, holding him close and kissing his forehead.

“Gonna go shower,” Hank murmurs. “You still up for a shave?”

“Oh, absolutely, your stubble itches,” Connor says, nuzzling up against it and grinning playfully when Hank swats at him. “I never said I didn’t like it, Hank!”

“No, you’re just a brat,” Hank grouses, slapping his ass as Connor saunters past him and towards the bathroom.

“Absolutely,” Connor agrees as he opens the mirror cabinet, pulling out the straight razor and shaving foam he’d purchased for Hank. “And I’m your brat. Please sit, Hank.”

Hank sighs in amusement and sits on the bathroom counter for Connor, letting him reach up and rub shaving foam into his beard, his nimble fingers working Hank’s face with smooth circles. Hank tilts his head back and forth into Connor’s gentle touch until his hand leaves. Hank grunts at the lack of pressure and touch and Connor tuts, leaning forward and kissing between his eyes.

“Hush. Let me do this for you, my love.”

Hank’s heart melts at the endearment, and he knows he’s doomed to let Connor do as he likes. Thankfully, what he wants to do is scrape the straight razor across all the lines and angles of Hank’s cheeks and jawline, mindfully rasping the razor up his throat as well, stripping stubble from skin until Hank’s skin was smooth and still lightly flecked with foam.

“Beard okay, or does it need a trim?” Hank asks, trying not to swallow the soap. Connor cocks his head and surveys it, considering.

“Hm. Eat me out and I’ll give you a better answer,” he says, and Hank bursts out laughing. He’s warm inside, fluttering full of bubbles—a feeling he would’ve bet fifty million dollars last year that he’d never have again. And somehow he’s got it back, just from being in his bathroom getting ready for bed.

Well. To be fair, he’s getting ready for bed with the love of his life, the future father of his children. So.

Hank leans in and kisses his forehead. “You’re a fuckin’ tease, kid. I’ll be fine without a trim for today, then. Gonna shower, if that’s all right with you?”

“I’ll go make up the bed, it’s all right,” Connor agrees, leaning in to kiss him back. He pulls away, putting his fingers in his mouth. “Hm. Analyzing the contents of your shaving foam for analysis is interesting. I always expect them to taste as good as they smell.”

“You can’t even taste things, can you?”

“Not exactly, no. Which is what makes it all the stranger,” Connor frowns, sucking idly on his fingertips for a second just to watch Hank stare at the sight. “Hurry and shower, Hank. I’ll be expecting you in bed by 11:15, and it’s 10:56 now.”

“God, _Connor,”_ Hank sighs, and Connor just laughs, leaving him to shower himself off in the bathroom and wipe off the rest of the shaving foam, washing up and applying aftershave, savoring the sting as he briefly towels off before climbing back into bed with Connor, damp, naked, and warm. Connor hums in delight, turning around to bury his face into Hank’s chest.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Hank murmurs, petting his hair. “Normal standby tonight, Con?”

“Mm, mostly. Just going to be running the new programs for insemination,” Connor closes his eyes. “A month feels like such a long time.”

“Yeah? Well it won’t once it’s over, promise,” Hank says. “And you’ve got a lot to do, right? Baby shower and all.”

“Oh, absolutely. I should start preparing the guest list. Oh, and showing you the potential venues I’ve already sought out. And I know I don’t eat, but we’re still going to have it catered of course, I—“

“Connor?”

Connor blinks up at him. Hank kisses his forehead. “I love you. Stop fussing and go to sleep already.”

“It’s not sleep,” Connor grumbles, closing his eyes and snuggling closer, his systems slipping into standby. “Hank?”

“Mm?”

“Love you too.”

Hank puts his hand around Connor’s waist and pulls him closer, savoring the sound of his words until he falls asleep beside him.


	9. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery, a revelation, and a new lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than usual, but I couldn't find a good stopping point, so it's worth it, I think! I hope you do as well. :)

The next five weeks of Hank’s life are spent trying as hard as humanly possible not to ask Connor if the baby was growing yet. He doesn’t want to sound demanding or fussy, but he can’t help but hold Connor’s waist when they sleep together in bed, his hand over his stomach, like it’ll signal to him when the baby’s ready.

“If you’re expecting that to grow, it’s not going to yet,” Connor remarks one morning, sitting next to Hank on the couch with a straw in his mug, sipping thirium as Hank flips through the newspaper with one hand, his other hand resting idly on Connor’s stomach. “I did obtain an abdominal plate for my chassis with the necessary elasticity to allow the uterine attachment to safely grow. Plus, I believe it would be aesthetically pleasing to…”

He trails off, his hand sliding over Hank’s own, pushing it a little firmer down over his stomach. “Um. You know.”

“I know you’re gonna look so fucking good when you’re fat with my baby, Con, that’s for sure,” Hank promises, rubbing his thumb over Connor’s stomach and grinning when he squirms. “How do you feel?”

“Excited? Um,” Connor swallows. “There’s no problems with the conception thus far. Another few days and I should…know.”

Hank takes a deep breath. “That right? That—that’s good. Thanks for telling me, Con. I can’t wait to know either.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Connor grins. “Don’t worry. When I know, you’ll know.”

Hank sighs in pleasure, stretching out and yawning. “Do you want to, uh—know? The sex, I mean. Biologically speaking.”

“Oh, I’ve already turned that scanning option off in my system settings,” Connor beams. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh, yeah? Then you better get cracking on baby names, kid.” Hank hums, burying his face into Connor’s neck, kissing the spot between his throat and shoulder. “Got any ideas so far?”

“Not yet! But I will, ah—think it over, and let you know when I do,” Connor promises, pulling Hank closer to him and sighing in pleasure as their bodies meet.

Hank plays with Connor’s hair as they sit on the couch together in calm, peaceful comfort with one another, Connor’s LED spinning a lazy sunny yellow as he sifts through baby name databases. Hank turns the television on and lets a basketball game play in the background, his thoughts wandering.

Even on a soft, perfect day like this, he can’t help but let them wander further out and down the hall, past the door he’s kept closed for six years, untouched and unspoken; if Connor knows why, he hasn’t said anything, and if he doesn’t, he hasn’t asked.

There was, as his mind helpfully points out for him, no other room in the house that would suit a child’s needs. He knows this as rational fact. But the door hangs heavy in his thoughts and he can’t bring himself to open it all up to examine yet, not when the baby’s barely begun to grow.

“Con?”

“Mm?”

“I,” Hank swallows. “I just. Uh. Keep me posted on the kid, okay? I want to know they’re doing well.”

“Of course, Hank. Would you like to hear some of the baby names I’ve selected for further consideration?”

Hank tilts his head back, eyes closed. “Yeah, Con. I’d like that a lot.”

…

It’s not a few days, _technically._ It’s about a week, but the tricky thing about “a few” of anything has always been figuring out where the wiggle room is, definitively speaking. It’s actually about five days, and Hank’s really just being dramatic, he knows this, but the package with Connor’s flexible abdominal port arrived two days ago and its presence in the bedroom, still sitting in its pale box, is driving him wild.

“Soon,” Connor promises him in bed that night, sighing in pleasure as Hank plays with his dick, tugging with sturdy fingers on it as he spreads his legs wider for easier access. “I’ll know soon, Hank, I promise. Everything in my systems is telling me soon, soon, soon—“

He cuts himself off with a needy whimper, his dick throbbing under Hank’s touch as Hank pulls him into his lap, holding him close and gripping his ass.

“Should get in some practice tonight, sweetheart,” Hank says. “Gonna be riding me a lot the next few months, yeah?”

“Oh,” Connor sobs, sinking down onto Hank’s cock with a grateful little moan. “Yes, absolutely, I—Hank, _oh—“_

He’s dissolved into a panting, sloppy mess after just a few minutes, rocking himself against Hank’s cock as Hank plays with his dick, coming around his fingers and cock until his processors are starting to whirr so loudly Hank can hear them from under his chassis.

“You’re fuckin’ adorable, sweetheart,” Hank murmurs. “Gonna fill you up again, yeah? Just to make sure.”

Connor whimpers in agreement, Hank’s huge thighs supporting him as he bounces up and down on his cock, bucking back frantically as Hank slips his fingers in alongside his cock, holding Connor in place as he empties into him, Connor still and wide-eyed, his face and chest flushed bright blue. Hank pulls his fingers down a little, guiding Connor into sitting pretty on his softening cock until it slips out completely and Connor’s trembling on his lap, panting in pleasure.

“Feel good, kitten?” Hank murmurs, reaching up and holding Connor’s hips, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You look overwhelmed."

“A little,” Connor exhales, putting his hands over his stomach. “Just thinking about positions of sexual intercourse that would be safest for the baby during pregnancy. I’m downloading step by step guides. With diagrams, even.”

“God damn it, Connor,” Hank sighs, but he can’t help but crack a grin. “Diagrams? Really?”

“I thought it would be useful,” Connor defends himself, letting Hank lift him off his lap and onto his spot in bed. “For now, I’m also supposed to sleep on my side? Something about not dislodging the baby. Would you make sure to hold me steady while I’m in standby?”

“You say that like we don’t cuddle like this every night,” Hank teases him, laying out in bed next to Connor, petting his side and kissing his shoulder, laying his hand over his stomach and holding him close. “Nice of you to ask, though, kitten. Any reason to hold you is a good one.”

“I thought you would feel that way,” Connor snuggles closer, wiggling his hips a little against the soft, sturdy warmth of Hank’s stomach and thighs. “For what it’s worth, any reason to be held is a satisfactory one as far as I’m concerned.”

Hank hums an agreement, kissing him one last time before bed. Connor waits until he can hear Hank’s breathing slow and his heart rate even out to slip into standby, letting the sounds of Hank’s sleep accompany him as he retreated deep into himself, his processors still running in the background, scanning the uterine attachment for signs of life.

…

Slow, steady. The feeling comes back to Connor in waves for the first time. Before it was a switch flicked deep within his body and all his processors lit up like holiday lights, waking him up with an immediacy that no human could match.

It’s something about the program, probably. The upgrades that allow him to carry his new life, keep them safe from all harm, tethering him to the warm, heavy womb he’s made for himself—maybe they’ve made him a little more human in response.

Logically, he knows it’s just because his processors are accommodating the massive upgrade to his systems, and since keeping his womb stable and capable of supporting life takes top priority, everything else inside of him is going to slow down, but where’s the fun in _that?_

Connor’s systems speak to him as he stirs, doing his routine diagnostics. He idly scans his systems; all of his biocomponents are in working order, his thirium intake has to be upped by 1.6%, and there’s two heartbeats inside of him, wonderful. Everything is working as it should be.

Connor reflects on the satisfaction of all his functions being in working order for a moment. And the heartbeat had started? Fantastic, then. He commits a portion of his processors to record and monitor it at all times. As soon as Hank wakes up, he’ll tell him. He makes a note to find some way to make sure he can listen to their baby’s heartbeat.

Connor opens one eye and catches sight of Hank’s sleeping face. He smiles, soft and warm, and closes his eyes again, awake but idle, performing routine calibration as he rests his hand over his thirium pump port, feeling the pulse and throb under his fingertips.

Connor lets his calibrations continue for a few minutes, most of his body functioning on autopilot, until a small concern worms its way into his system. A system notice pops up.

Connor’s fingers pause over his thirium port. Which, as his systems helpfully remind him, does not expand or contract, instead rotating to effectively diffuse thirium through the wires veining through his biocomponents.

Connor bolts upright, grabbing at the blankets to balance himself. His systems are fine, but the room is spinning, his world abruptly upending itself.

“I don’t have a heartbeat,” Connor says to himself, putting a hand on his stomach, hesitant and heavy with hope. “I don’t…I don’t have a heartbeat.”

The sun falls in through the curtains and over his face, lighting him up as his fingertips graze the soft skin of his stomach. The only sounds in the Anderson household are Sumo and Hank’s soft, snoring breaths, the hum of the fridge, and the ticking of Hank’s old cat-eyed clock, its eyes lolling. All of them crescendo to a deafening roar in Connor’s auditory sensors, and then crash into silence. The only sound he hears now are the two throbbing heartbeats inside of him, growing stronger every second.

Hank grumbles beside him, opening one bleary eye. “Con? S’matter with you?”

“ _I don’t have a heartbeat,”_ Connor repeats, his voice breaking apart under the weight of his delight. “Hank! _Hank!_ I don’t have a _heartbeat!”_

“Well,” Hank drawls, blinking sleep from his eyes as he sits up. “Yeah. I know. Why?”

Connor grabs his hands and puts them against his stomach, turning his auditory output up and playing the recording from his processors underneath his chassis. His whole body vibrates with the sound now, and Hank’s hands start to shake in turn.

One consistent beat. And then, two.

“Oh my god,” Hank says, and starts to sob.

Connor’s hands are grasping his, his LED bright with panic. Hank’s shaking in his embrace, gasping for air, trying to speak, forcing the words out past the tears flowing down his face and the emotion clogging up his throat.

“Is that—is that our babies? Those sounds, they’re—“

“Yes!” Connor’s beaming, trembling all over, holding Hank’s hands over his own stomach. “Yes, it is, that’s our babies, Hank!”

“I can’t—“ Hank gulps a desperate breath and buries his face into Connor’s shoulder, sobbing so hard his shoulders shake like earthquake tremors, his whole body falling apart against the sound, still echoing through Connor’s chassis.

Connor holds onto Hank tight, letting him cry himself hoarse as he blinks back his own tears, rubbing his hand in slow, soothing circles over Hank’s back and shoulders until they still and his cries slow. He lifts his head from Connor’s shoulder and cups his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the line of Connor’s jaw.

“You’re—“ Hank purses his lips together, tears threatening to spill as his voice wobbles like a house on stilts. Connor’s glowing softly with delight, and his smile keeps the foundation in Hank steady.

“You’re a miracle, Connor,” Hank says, holding onto him so tight he trembles. “You’re the greatest thing that could’ve ever happened to me. You and these babies, that’s it. You’re everything. You know that?”

“Oh, I do, I promise.” Connor leans into his touch, his eyes half-closed. “For what it’s worth, Hank, that’s exactly how I feel about you.”

“And our babies,” Hank repeats, his voice weak with warmth. Connor smiles and rests his hand on his stomach.

“And our babies,” he agrees, kissing Hank carefully, his lips gentle and bouncy, brimming with delight as Hank devours him in kind, holding onto him so tight Connor shivers around the touch.

“We—we gotta go to work, fuck,” Hank sucks in a breath. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone until you give me the go-ahead. Anyone you wanna tell first?”

“Nines,” Connor supplies immediately. “And that means Gavin, I won’t ask Nines to keep secrets from him, that’d be unfair.”

Hank stares blankly. “How come?”

Connor raises his eyebrows, but lets the subject drop for another time. “Don’t worry about that. I should, um. Speak with Markus, as well. This is—that is, they are—important.”

“Well, of course, they’re our babies,” Hank says, savoring the words. “But I know what you mean. You think—“

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Connor confesses, brow furrowed. “Android pregnancy is relatively new as a concept. I believe there’s only been—“

He does a quick database search and blinks. “Ten thousand android pregnancies post-revolution. And none between an android and a human, interestingly enough. It’s all been IVF and gene-edited sperm. Hm. Yes, I am going to have to speak with Markus as soon as possible. I’ll send a message on the way to work.”

“Right, that—yeah. Okay. Work. Don’t leave my sight unless you’re going somewhere with Nines, you got it?” Hank says, his hands resting on Connor’s belly for another brief second before pulling away with aching reluctance, going to get dressed.

Connor nods, getting out of bed to get dressed, his hands slipping over the buttons of his shirt with a tremor of excitement. “Of course, Hank.”

Hank eats a hasty breakfast and Connor knocks back a mug of his adjusted thirium intake, Sumo following him around the kitchen with his tail wagging every so often, eyes alert and bright.

“He probably knows you’re pregnant, Con,” Hank says, his voice warm and proud, weighed with love. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he? Good boy, Sumo. You’re gonna look after Connor, right?”

Sumo nudges Connor’s belly with his cold nose, sneezing in agreement. Connor smiles and rubs behind his ear, leaving an extra treat out for him when he and Hank leave for work.

He contacts his brother first, his fingers tapping the armrest of the car door, his head cocked and his LED glowing.

< _Nines! I have to talk to you today, it’s urgent! And it has to be somewhere private! >_

Nines’ voice flickers for a second before it cuts through Connor’s thoughts. < _Private? Is something the matter, little brother? >_

_< No! No, but it has to be in private. Also it has to be before I meet with Markus. I mean, he’s great, but. You’re my little brother, you should know first.>_

_< We’ve been over this, RK800, as the finished product I deserve the rights accorded to being the eldest sibling—>_

_< Oh, before I forget! I don’t think Hank knows about you and Detective Reed. Why don’t you talk to him about that?>_

Nines abruptly halts their connection. Connor beams, smug and self satisfied, until he marshals his processors and reaches out to Markus’ connection.

It’s different to have Markus in his head, especially compared to his brother. Nines’ thoughts were like cold water, bracing and intense, but when Markus spoke to him, it was like a sunflower blooming in his skull, a mind full of heat and petals.

< _Connor. Is everything all right? I haven’t heard from you in a few weeks. I was starting to get worried. >_

_< No, no! I’m fine. It’s just that I was busy. With the Lieutenant. Which is actually why I need to talk to you. Are you—available? Tonight?>_

Something over their connection sharpens, shifts. < _Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t done anything to you, has he? >_

_< What? No! I mean—yes, but no. Not like that. He hasn’t hurt me. It’s not like that. Do you have time to talk?>_

_< Tonight? Of course. I’ll send you a location. Will eight work?>_

_< Yes, that’s fine. Just—Markus?>_

_< Connor, you’re starting to worry me. You sound…> _The connection hums as Markus searches for a word. < _Perturbed. >_

_< Do I? Hm. I’ll have to look into the side effects of this more clearly. I suppose I should’ve accounted for changes in my processors.>_

_< Connor, what are you talking about?>_

_< I’ll tell you tonight! I’m fine! Really! Please don’t freak out!>_

He ends the connection as Hank pulls into work.

“Everything okay, Con? Your LED was bouncing between red and yellow for ages, and I was starting to _Jesus Christ,”_ Hank starts in his seat, scrambling for his seatbelt as Nines looms outside his window, putting his hand on the door of Hank’s car and opening it with ease.

“Nines, what the _fuck,”_ Hank gasps. “Scared the shit outta me, kiddo, what in the god damn—“

“Little brother.” Nines points at Connor. “Now.”

“Oh my god, you always have to do this whenever you’re worried, you’re going to spoil the _mood,”_ Connor complains, getting out of the car. “And be gentle with Christine! She’s older than both of us and Detective Reed combined.”

Nines blinks. “…Christine?”

“The car,” Connor says, patting her hood gingerly. “Hank? It’s okay. I told Nines the, you know, on the way here. Can you go inside and tell everyone we’re going to be gone for a few minutes?”

“Take the break, Con, no one’s gonna complain,” Hank promises, getting out of the car and gently rubbing Connor’s shoulder. “See you in a bit, okay?”

“Of course, Hank,” Connor says, squeezing his hand before Hank lifts it away. Nines watches him go and then turns to Connor, brows knit.

“You really can’t just tell me something’s urgent and expect me not to assume the worst, little brother,” Nines insists. “And really. Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t know? You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, he definitely doesn’t, because when I told him you’d be the first to know about the babies, so Gavin would end up being second, he didn’t understand how that would work, so I think we can safely assume he hasn’t noticed.”

Connor waits. Watches his brother parse his words and then the flare-up of a bright red LED, a blink-and-miss flash of color. Nines cocks his head, staring down at Connor’s stomach.

“The babies.”

Connor nods. “Yes! I wanted you to know before anyone else.”

Nines sucks in a breath and adjusts his jacket just to fidget with his hands, glancing aside for a second before meeting his brother’s gaze.

“…Babies _plural._ Am I correct in my understanding of the situation?”

Connor holds out a single stone-white hand. “Want to find out?”

Nines interfaces with him immediately, taking his hand and squeezing tight. He breaks contact first with a sharp gasp, taking a step back and gripping his hand to his own chest.

“Oh,” he whispers, closing his fingers over his arc ring, his fingers trembling. “Connor, I _felt them.”_

Connor grins, his whole body lightly vibrating with pleasure. “I know! Isn’t it amazing?”

Nines nods, still holding his hand closed. “That was—that was incredible. I never thought I would feel a human when interfacing. And you’re going to feel that all the _time?”_

“Well, for about nine months, yes,” Connor beams. “Are you excited to be an uncle?”

“Oh. Yes. That’s—I would. Be. Hm. I don’t know. I’ve never been,” Nines confesses. “This is so unique, Connor. I never thought we could…”

He trails off, holding his hand over Connor’s for a second, hesitating. Connor grabs it and allows Nines to interface with him again, his brother’s presence glowing beneath his own skin.

“Amazing,” Nines breathes. “I am…proud. To have been the first one you told. Outside of your Lieutenant, of course.”

“I wanted to make sure it was you,” Connor promises. “I’m a little nervous, actually? Now that I know it’s really happening. And Hank’s worried.”

“He should be. I believe you may be the first android impregnated by a human, if my quick perusal of birth statistics in America is to be trusted,” Nines raises his eyebrows and worries his lip, one cold fang cutting a little into the skin. “Hm. I will simply have to be more careful with you for the next few months.”

“I’m not made of _glass,”_ Connor complains, but Nines waves his protest off and turns around, heading back inside. “Nines! Hey! Come back here! It’s not winning the argument if you just walk away! _Nines!”_

Nines breezes through the foyer and back through the doors into the bullpen, stopping by Hank’s desk as Connor comes in after him, his LED an accusatory gold.

“Lieutenant Anderson, it has come to my attention that you were hitherto unaware that Detective Reed and I are pursuing an intimate relationship, in regards to matters both physical and romantic. As well as the fool can be expected to understand romance, of course.”

Hank puts his coffee cup down without breaking eye contact with Nines. To his eternal credit, his hand does not shake. Nines adjusts the lapels of his jacket.

“Since you are his superior, I thought the relationship should be made clear to you in case you had any concerns about our behavior affecting our work. I assure you, I am keeping him in line.” Nines glances back at Gavin, who has frozen mid-bite of his breakfast burrito in a way that implies he never plans on moving again. “Speaking of, chew with your mouth closed, Detective. Your gaping is unattractive.”

“Hgh,” Gavin offers helpfully around the eggs, potatoes, and jalapeno peppers in his mouth, all of which have turned to ash at Nines’ words.

“Uh. Yeah. Okay. No, you’re…fine,” Hank says. His head aches and he’s barely gotten through his first half-hour at work. Nines nods, formal and polite.

“I am glad you understand the situation. Oh, and Lieutenant?” Nines smiles, thin and clearly out of practice, but genuine. “It seems congratulations are in order. I am…ecstatic, I believe. Despite my worry for my little brother’s well being.”

“Yeah? You and me both, kid. We’ll keep him safe.” Hank runs a hand through his hair. “And, Nines?”

“Lieutenant.”

“Thank you. But also? You can do better than him. Just thought you should know that.”

Nines snorts, sharp and amused. “Oh, I do.”

Gavin sputters out a spray of his breakfast in protest, fumbling for words as Nines produces a napkin and swipes it over the mess before clamping his hand gently over Gavin’s mouth to stop his splutters and sitting down to work.

Hank gives Connor an exasperated look. Connor shrugs, face pale blue. “I thought you should know!”

“Well, _I_ didn’t want to know. Have you ever considered that?” Hank grouses, but there’s no bite to it; Connor brightens up and sits across from him, nudging Hank’s foot with his own from under the desk.

After that, Connor enjoys a relatively peaceful morning. He’s sure if he goes out to pursue any of the leads he’s accumulated on any current cases Hank or Nines will handcuff him to his desk, so he settles for passing along names and addresses to his brother and running background checks on the current list of suspects for his most recent case.

Nothing overly suspicious comes up in the background checks for any of the current suspects, but something’s still ticking in the back of his mind, insistently piping up for attention. Connor worries at his lip and sifts through his current case information, searching for the names of the victims, and connecting to the data from their remains that had been uploaded to the DPD evidence database.

The search results he conducts on all the stored data return variations on behavior, profiles, gender, race, and employment. No common threads—except that every single one was an android, and all of them had either been looking to conceive, or had already conceived.

“Oh,” Connor murmurs, furrowing his brow. “That’s important. Lieutenant!”

“Everything okay, kid? I You’re not going out on a fuckin’ interview, right? You can do what you gotta do here—“

“I already _did,_ ” Connor insists. “Lieutenant, the four most recent victims of violence were all androids on a waitlist to conceive or were recently impregnated.”

“Wait, what? How do you know? That didn’t come up in anything at the crime scenes, and no witnesses I’ve talked to about it so far said shit about that.” Hank pushes back from his desk, leaning over Connor’s shoulder to look at the victim profiles.

“You wouldn’t have been able to tell, Lieutenant. I have access to what we could salvage of their systems and upload to our database. Some fragments of their online history and documents remain; either they’ve purchased the necessary components for pregnancy, and had, from their most recent order history, been preparing for a child, and when I checked the other names, they were on a CyberLife waiting list for egg and sperm samples.”

“There’s a waitlist? Wait, then—“ Hank gestures, trying to look casual. Connor smiles, watching him scramble for words. “Wait. You didn’t—you didn’t, like, buy us around a waitlist, did you? That’s—“

“No, Lieutenant. It was simply that I only needed egg samples. That expedited the process, making it a matter of days instead of a month or so.”

Hank blinks. His face is flushed, and his eyes are seeking out anything except contact with Connor in front of him. He shakes it off with a huff, scanning the tablet screen in front of him.

“So we have a connection,” Hank says. “The only connection so far, actually. Good start, kid. I’m impressed.”

“I would’ve thought you’d expect this from me by now,” Connor teases. Hank rolls his eyes.

“Take the compliment and don’t preen, kid. Can you send Nines the info?”

“It's already been sent. I’m sure he won’t let me attend, because apparently you two have been conspiring against me already, but he and Detective Reed will pursue the new lead.”

“Got it. Yeah. Uh.” Hank takes a deep breath. “Connor?”

“Mm?”

“The babies,” Hank murmurs, looking away and screwing his eyes shut tight. “Did—did any of their babies make it?”

Connor pauses. He considers the best possible way to convey the truth and cuts through the knot of responses with a curt, direct, “I’m afraid not. None of them were anywhere near viability outside the womb.”

“Why didn’t anyone else notice? I thought we’d—“ Hank gestures. “You know. Don’t we have technicians to disassemble androids after they’ve died?”

“Most likely probability is that they didn’t recognize what they were seeing. Android modifications are becoming a fast trend, and I doubt our technicians are capable of keeping up. Still, I’ll have a word with the mortuary department and let them know what to look for.” Connor pauses. “Actually, I suppose I could show them.”

Hank shoots him a stern look. “You pop open that chest cavity and I’ll kick your ass, kid, you keep those two where they’re supposed to be.”

Connor grins. “Oh, Hank, I can just make my skin see-through. They’ll be able to take note of the device without it leaving my body.”

“Right, yeah. That’s fantastic. Hey, if Nines can bring you down there before he and his _paramour_ leave to follow your lead—“

“ _Henry.”_

Hank holds his hands up. “Okay, Jesus Christ. Fine, I’ll go with you, if you’re going to go full name at me.”

“I’m going to scream, is what I’m going to do,” Connor mumbles, glancing up at the ceiling and huffing. “I would appreciate your company, then. Do you find me capable of making it there under my own locomotive capabilities, or have my leg attachments already been deemed unfit for movement?”

“Don’t get verbose on me just ‘cause you’re grumpy, let’s go,” Hank cuffs him gently on the shoulder. “You can walk on your own. For now.”

“Oh, you’re _impossible,”_ Connor grumbles, face cerulean. “Do you intend to carry me after the start of the second trimester, or will I be graciously afforded autonomous mobility until my third?”

“I was actually thinking we get Sumo a saddle,” Hank remarks, and Connor laughs, holding one arm over his stomach and grasping Hank’s shoulder with the other, leaning into his amusement in a way that makes Hank’s eyes soften, warm and full of love as he looks down and nudges Connor.

“Hey, c’mon. Don’t give the whole game up yet. I wanna tell some of the guys first.”

“Oh, right! I’ll be as unobtrusive as possible,” Connor promises. “I am adept at keeping a low profile and not calling attention to myself in any way, as befits my programming.”

The doors to the bullpen bang open, and the woman that plows through them like they’ve both done her personal offense plants both her hands on her hips and hollers, “ _CONNOR!”_

There’s a beat of silence in the pen. Nines purses his lips and looks aside at his brother, standing at the edge of the bullpen and trying to sink into the floor.

The two men that stumble in after her like puppies trying to keep pace with a wolf, murmuring apologies to the bemused faces regarding them from behind their desks, grasp her gently by the shoulder and murmur something into her ear. She makes a face and puts her fingers in her mouth, whistling loud and sharp.

“I told Markus I was _fine,”_ Connor says to the wall in front of him, his face so bright it’s reflecting light onto the paint.

“Can’t hear you!” North yells, just to prove a point.

“I know fully well you can!”

“It’s considered polite to address a lady face to face, jackass,” North calls over the bullpen. Hank gives Connor a thoroughly amused look.

“She’s got a point, kid.”

“You’re a traitor,” Connor mutters to the ceiling. “Tell her I’m not talking to her if she’s going to holler across the bullpen.”

“Oh, I’m not telling her shit, she’d kick my teeth down my throat. You tell her.”

Simon and Josh have made their way relatively gracefully through the bullpen, given that everyone currently working in it has stopped where they are to stare at the proceedings, seemingly unaware of anything in their surroundings except for the two androids on either side of the pen. Josh reaches Connor first, politely glancing at Hank briefly before giving Connor a look.

“Hey, Connor.”

“Josh,” Connor inclines his head. “I don’t take Markus as the type to hold a grudge.”

Josh blinks. “I—I don’t either?”

“Right. So why did he send North to come get me?”

“He’s _worried,_ hi,” Simon interjects, bounding up to them both, giving Hank a rabbit’s glance before diving back into the safety of meeting Josh and Connor’s gazes. “He said you sounded stressed and distracted, and he wanted us to come check on you, see if you had time to visit now?”

“Did he tell North to—“

“No, she just,” Josh gestures. “I think she wanted to see what reaction she could get out of the humans here.”

“Fantastic, glad I could be used for research purposes.” Connor glances at Hank. “I have to speak with our technicians—“

“No, I can go on ahead and do it,” Hank promises. “You three don’t exactly look comfortable being here, and I don’t blame you, yeah? Take Con and go. Just drop him off at home when you’re done, okay? Uh, give ‘em the address, Con.”

Simon and Josh share a quick look as North breezes through the bullpen like a breath of air through a bonfire before nudging Connor’s shoulder, giving him a look.

“What, was I not loud enough?”

“Oh, I heard you fine. I just didn’t respond.”

“So you _do_ have it in you to be a little shit! I’m impressed,” North grins, all teeth. Hank snorts.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw him at a crime scene.”

“Hey! I listen to you! When I judge it as the most logical path forward.” Connor bats his lashes at Hank, and Hank makes a face.

“Oh, play cute in front of your friends, real coy of you, brat. Just know I’m onto you.”

North makes a face, bumping her hand against Simon’s. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. Hank glances at them, and then back at Connor.

“Go on, scoot. I’ll see you back at home,” he says. “Thanks for stopping by to get him. Really appreciate it.”

North looks him up and down. Hank lets himself be surveyed and judged, not moving until she takes a step back, allowing her to set a safe distance. “Ma’am.”

North acknowledges the greeting with a quick jerk of her head before turning around and leaving in the same blaze she’d entered.

“Well, she didn’t tell you to go fuck yourself, so you know what? That’s a start.” Josh looks at Simon, who happily follows the path North’s already cut through the bullpen, and back at Hank. “We’ll be sure to bring him back before midnight, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Oh, a sense of humor, thank god. I was worried all androids were unfunny. Must just be Connor, then.”

“ _Hey,”_ Connor protests, and is kissed between the eyes for his troubles. He huffs. “You’re no comedian yourself, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, yeah. Call me if there’s trouble,” Hank says. Connor takes his hand and squeezes.

“Same to you,” he says, and finally lets Josh pull him away, though his fingers leave Hank’s grip with great reluctance.

Hank watches Connor go until well after he’s fully gone, with a knot in his gut he can’t explain, twisting and turning like a hanged man in the breeze.

Then, with all the info Connor’s given him in hand, he turns and disappears down into the depths of the mortuary department.


	10. Heartbeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jericho convenes and Connor calls their attention to his case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the start of a swing into Plot, because that's just how the fic shook out, and I think the byproduct of 10 years in Catholic school means i'm morally obligated to write about how anti-choice politics can eat shit and die, i have always been angry about anti-choice politics and will probably die angry about it, so uh. hey pregnancy is a political act, especially for people who are considered "undesireable" by society! we sterilized black and natve women in america for literally decades! so uh. anyway enjoy the fluff elbowing in alongside Plot Content, friends

Connor folds his arms over his chest and sighs, tilting his head to the side and watching the city go by as North drove, winding through traffic and taking every turn a little too hard.

“This is ridiculous, you know. I really am fine,” he promises.

“So then tell us what’s going on, Connor,” North says, speeding up to race through a yellow light.

“No, not yet! It’s, uh. When we get there.” Connor glances aside. “Speaking of, where is _there?”_

“Oh, Markus’ father has a studio with a nice view of the river, we’ve been staying there,” Simon explains. “I mean, the four of us! The bigger family home is where most of Jericho has been staying lately. Coming in and out and things like that, just to get back on their feet and be around other androids. Your brother’s visited before, actually.”

Connor blinks. “Really? He’s never attended with me.”

“Oh, well, he’s shy,” Simon sighs. “I think he doesn’t realize that’s why he won’t come to more of these gatherings, but you should try to accompany him once or twice, see if it helps.”

“If he or Hank lets me out of the house for the next few months, I’ll be sure to make it,” Connor promises.

All three of the other androids give him a firm look. Connor groans. “It’s a _joke,_ I’m fine, I’ll explain when we get there.”

“Good, we’re pulling into the driveway, start talking,” North says, taking a hard left and pulling into the apartment complex driveway. Connor sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt, following her out of the car.

“You can’t just wait until we’re upstairs, can you?” Josh teases her. “Whatever it is, unless it’s going to explode in two minutes, we can wait.”

North huffs. “Listen, if RoboCop is being cagey, there’s a good reason for it, right?”

“I feel offended by the term RoboCop,” Connor interjects. “RoboCop was a human equipped with cybernetic implants, and not a proper android.”

North gives him a look before rolling her eyes. “Okay. Maybe the human was onto something and you _are_ a little bastard.”

“ _Hank_ was just exaggerating,” Connor says as Josh unlocks the door and the four of them enter the apartment, the elevator already waiting at the ground floor for them to ride it up. “Although for you, I assume calling me a bastard is a compliment.”

“Well, a little bit,” North concedes, grinning. Connor smiles briefly as the elevator climbs, the doors sliding open with a quiet pinging noise, opening up onto the top floor.

“Oh,” Connor murmurs, stepping out into the wide open space, his fingers brushing over the clusters of plants under the windows, spreading their petals open for the sun. “Flowers.”

“It’s surprisingly hard to get them to grow here, but we’ve managed to get a few of the hardy ones to survive,” Markus calls from somewhere inside the labyrinth of canvas, vines, and buds that makes up a large portion of the studio’s main room. “Connor? You made it here safely, I take it?”

“I’ve been completely fine this entire time, but everyone seems thoroughly unconvinced,” Connor grouses, running his fingers over the broad, flat leaves of the morning glories spilling out of pots and climbing up wall trellises leaning against every available surface. “Have you grown all these yourself? They’re gorgeous.”

“Ah, it’s a group effort, mostly, but yes.” Connor can hear the sound of a thick wooden brush being put down, and follows the noise around a covered canvas to Markus sitting on top of a desk covered in paperwork, barefoot and covered in paint from his ankles to his shoulders, the straps of his tank top smudged with ochre and amethyst. He gives Connor a warm, immediate smile before fixating on North, his sparkling eyes sharpening up.

“So, to your assessment, the DPD seems—“

“Well, RoboCop and RoboCop 2 seem to fit in just fine, so they’re clearly cool with those two androids at least, but yeah, no one like, tried to arrest me for anything in there, and I think that could be considered a success,” North says with a shrug. Markus raises an eyebrow.

“Depends on what you were doing.”

“Hey, I was getting Connor’s attention the only way I thought I could!” North folds her arms over her chest. “Hard to distract him away from that human he’s always following around.”

“His name is Hank,” Connor pipes up. North huffs.

“Right, boyfriend-human’s named Hank,” she agrees, waving him off. “Though I still think ‘boyfriend-human’ is a better term.”

“North, we didn’t ask Connor to come and visit so you could relentlessly bully him,” Josh points out.

North wrinkles her nose. “What, I’m not allowed to tease him?”

“I don’t think it’s teasing after a certain point, is it?” Josh counters. “That _is_ his human. I’m sure Connor chose him for a reason.”

“He really is very sweet,” Connor insists. “And I think he likes you. I mean, he likes that you could take him in a fight. It’s a quality he appreciates in women.”

“Compliment taken, then,” North sits on the edge of the desk opposite Markus, folding her legs up and stretching her arms above her head. “Can you _please_ just tell us what’s up already and stop being so damn cagey?”

Simon approaches Markus as Connor thinks his words over, nudging his hand against Markus’ own like a cat headbutting their owner. Markus takes his hand and rubs his thumb over Simon’s palm for a brief interface before he breaks the link, settling for simply resting his hand atop Simon’s, feeling the weight of him. “Oh. Is that right?”

Connor blinks. Markus furrows his brow. “Apparently you seemed worried about something at work.”

“Oh, right, the case—that’s absolutely important. So’s the other thing, but—“ Connor fumbles as the other androids around him perk up with concern.

“ _What_ other thing?” Markus asks.

Connor huffs, his face pale blue. “Look, I know you were worried about where I’ve been for the past few weeks, and…well, Hank and I were trying for a baby. And I finally confirmed this morning that we succeeded. I’m almost two months pregnant with twins.”

There’s a long beat of silence. The flowers rustle in the breeze of a fan whirring somewhere far off in the corner, the vines and leaves shivering with the potential for new growth.

“I _knew_ it, I _knew_ it,” Simon crows, beaming bright as a spotlight. “Oh I can _always_ tell, it’s been so _long_ since I’ve held a baby and oh Connor it’s _twins_ you’re so _lucky_ that’s _amazing—_ “

“Wait, so the boyfriend-human fucked a baby into you? _Two_ babies? He’s like a thousand years old, what the fuck,” North blinks. “It still works?”

Connor sputters, folding his arms over his chest. “It works just fine, I’ll have you know!”

“Ugh, I’ll take your word for it,” North wrinkles her nose. “So are they gonna be in you the entire time? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It will be soon, but for now I’m capable of walking, despite the Lieutenant’s protests,” Connor sighs. “I’m not sure when I’m having the shower, though of course you’re all invited. Probably about two months from now? It’ll have cooled down somewhat and I’ll still be able to walk without any complaints.”

“Typical. Already planning ahead,” Josh huffs and gives him a broad grin. “You’ve thought of names already, I take it?”

“A few, but I haven’t run them past Hank yet! I’m not finding out what sex the babies are, I don’t want to know until they’re born, so I’ve thought about narrowing it down to two masculine options, two feminine ones, and two neutral ones, and we can decide once we, well, know.” Connor’s face flushes pale blue. “To be honest, I’m still a little overwhelmed.”

“I bet. You look like you’ve got a lot going on. Guess I can’t blame you. Are you going to take it easy at work?” Josh asks. Connor groans.

“Believe me, I don’t have a choice! Hank’s—well, I mean,” Connor worries his lip. “He has his reasons for being so concerned, I understand completely, but now _Nines_ is getting in on it, which is awfully rich coming from someone who called the babies ‘spawn’ when we first discussed me having kids—“

“You’re always welcome to stay here, instead,” Markus cuts in gently. “It might put the Lieutenant at ease if you were situated somewhere less hectic than a police precinct. And god knows I could use you while negotiating with CyberLife and the government.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I’d like to at least wait until my first trimester ends, especially since I have a case right now that—“ Connor pauses, shakes his head and clears his thoughts. “Right. Markus, as much as I know North mostly showed up early just to embarrass me at work, I’m glad she did, because I think this case is urgent. For us.”

“The case? What’s the matter with it?” Markus cocks his head and watches Connor’s LED flicker, spinning and shifting color as he wraps his arm over his stomach.

“We’ve had four androids murdered in the past month. No obvious signs of trauma, and the cause of death is likely internal malware that they were purposely infected with, but we haven’t been able to trace the source or examine the code successfully. I was doing some scans of what remained of their software to see what I could find, and…” Connor trails off. The two heartbeats inside of him are the loudest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“The only common link between our victims is their intent on, or success becoming, pregnant. All of them were either recently impregnated or were on a waitlist for CyberLife’s gene-edited samples.”

Silence again. Not even the flowers are rustling. Simon’s hand is covering his mouth and he screws his eyes shut, blinking hard as Markus rubs his shoulder. Josh glances down at Connor’s stomach for just a second.

“The kids didn’t—“

“No. None of them made it. They weren’t—they were barely babies.” Connor looks away. “I’m…I have concerns. Of course.”

“Fucking of course you do, I don’t fucking believe this,” North sucks in a furious breath and gestures at his stomach. “Hey, not to sound like the most overprotective fusspot bitch, but you should definitely stay here. There’s no way in hell any human should get to see you for the next seven months.”

“Seconded,” Simon rushes, shaking his head. “Connor, I’m sorry, but if there’s even the slightest chance—“

“I know! I know. I’ve been thinking about it since I made the connection. I’m terrified,” Connor admits. “But if I tell Hank, it’ll hurt him so deeply I don’t know if I could heal it. And that makes me even _more_ afraid. And I can’t just up and leave work, or he’ll know something’s wrong!”

“There’s a more appropriate way of doing this,” Josh promises. “North and Simon are right. You should make as smooth and swift of a transition away from the DPD as you can, but it doesn’t have to be today, and it really shouldn’t be here, either. If this is a coordinated effort to punish androids seeking pregnancy…”

“We’re relatively easy to find now that we don’t have to hide. That’s kind of the point,” Markus concedes, frowning. “Even the studio is traceable, if you assume this is a coordinated effort that would invest time in searching you out as a potential target. It’s under Carl’s name, but that’s still a fairly obvious connection to me, and to you, if you stay.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to put any of you in danger, either. We still don’t know how this malware works, if it’s the actions of more than one person, or if it’s the actions of a specific radical movement. Frankly, I’m the only one at the DPD who’s made the connection thus far, though I shared my information with Nines, his partner, and my Lieutenant. We might not have answers for awhile.” Connor sighs. “It feels wrong to hide, but…the babies take priority. All I want is for them to be safe.”

“Of course. And we’re going to make sure of it, I promise.” Markus sucks in a breath through his teeth. “This is just a whole new angle of anti-android sentiment I’d never even considered. I need to tell Jericho, and let the information spread out from there to the people who need it.”

“Please do,” Connor agrees. “The details of the case aren’t necessary to divulge, but let as many of us as you can know that there’s a person or group targeting androids seeking to conceive, and if there’s any androids on the waitlist or considering adding their names—or have already conceived, then they should come talk to me, or Nines, even if they won’t talk to the rest of the DPD.”

“Duly noted,” Markus rubs the side of his face. “God damn it, though, can I just be honest? This makes me fucking furious. I mean, it’s just obscenely cruel.”

“Yes, that’s really been my main assessment of the situation, emotionally,” Connor gives him a wry grin. “I would stake money on the same humans who insist other humans stay pregnant against their wishes thinking androids shouldn’t get the chance. It seems like something they’d do.”

“Actually, that might be a good angle to start profiling, if you’ve got the ability,” Josh interjects. “You’re right, it does feel like there’d be a common thread there. It’s got that same element of control, and punishing people pursuing autonomy.”

“Listen, you know I’m completely down for cracking the skulls of dudes who stand outside abortion clinics and scream at women, it’s what I should’ve been built for,” North enthuses. “That said, I think we could use a subtler approach, just to start. I can talk to some of the girls I used to work with, see if they know anything? A lot of them left sex work, but they’ll remember former clients. I’ll see if anyone who fits the profile of ‘controlling sex weirdo’ comes up.”

“That would be massively helpful, yes. They’ll speak to you before they speak to anyone at the DPD, and that trust is important. I need to consider every potential avenue of suspects.” Connor tilts his head to the side, thinking. “Hm. I’m going to do some of my own investigating on parenting forums, see if any anti-android sentiment comes up.”

“I’ll do the same, I’ll let you know if anything important comes up,” Josh promises. “For now, you focus on scaling back your public presence and staying safe, okay?”

“I will, I promise!” Connor sighs. “I’d actually been thinking about suggesting a move to Hank before this, on and off, and now that I know we’re having two babies, I think I should seriously consider it. The house we’ve got now just isn’t big enough for all of us, and a quiet move would help keep me under the radar.”

“Yes, but you’ve still got to tell him why you’re worried at some point,” Simon insists. “He needs to know what the problem is and protect you from it. If he loves you, then that’s all he’s going to want to do, and he deserves the right to be given that chance!”

“No, I know!” Connor agrees. “He and I will talk. I just need to figure out how to tell him all this without upsetting him or triggering a negative psychological episode. I promise I’ll keep you all in the loop about whatever we decide to do about this situation.”

“Yes, well, you’d better,” Simon insists. “Whatever help you need, we’ll give you, I promise. The faster we deal with these people, the safer your babies are.”

He turns and gives Markus a look so sharp it could cleave stone. “And, not incidentally, the less excuses you have for the fact that I’m not pregnant this very second.”

Connor cracks a grin as Markus holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, we’re currently negotiating freedom for an entire sentient race and in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a potential extremist group going around murdering pregnant androids?”

“You only found out about the second one ten minutes ago, tops,” Simon huffs. “And you can negotiate freedom all you like, you’d hardly have to do any of the work once they were in me!”

“Uh, excuse me? That is not true, I need all the time I can get to fuss,” Markus clicks his tongue.

“Yes, but Carl’s not getting any younger, and I promised him grandkids!” Simon insists, his blush rising, making him shimmer silvery-blue.

“When—when did you two have this discussion? Why was _I_ not part of this discussion?” Markus protests. Connor bursts out laughing as Simon waves Markus off.

“That’s not important. What matters is now is that we find the people who mean our people harm and make sure they’re taken care of so that we can live safely,” Simon insists. “And our babies, too.”

Connor nods. “I’ll do everything I can on my end. I’m certain you’ll be doing the same on yours.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to find out who’s doing this and we’re going to get everything settled, and things will be all right,” Markus insists. “That’s a promise for all of you, okay? Connor, I know you can solve this. It’s what you were built for.”

Connor blushes and glances aside, shrugging his shoulders and grinning. “Your praise is duly noted and appreciated. And for what it’s worth, I agree with Simon. The babies should have friends their age to play with, besides, and I doubt Nines is going to want to have any for a long time, if ever.”

“See? Connor understands me,” Simon grumbles. “Oh, speaking of! Before we do anything else, if it’s all right, I…”

He trails off, holding his hand out. ”If it’s not too much, could I interface? Would I be able to feel them?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Connor grins. “You all can, if you like. Say hello.”

Both of his hands shine white up to the elbow, letting all four of the leaders of Jericho lay their hands on him, their own skin the same shining silver-white.

< _Oh my god. Connor, this is incredible. >_

_< I know! Isn’t it amazing? They have such little heartbeats. You know, they’re only the size of a peanut right now. They’re your tiny little peanuts, Connor.>_

_< Yes, they are. North? Are you okay?>_

_< Just shocked, I guess. They’re so…helpless. Just warm and little things who need all the support they can get.>_

_< They’ll have it, don’t worry. Connor, how do you feel?>_

Connor smiles, and speaks aloud in response to Josh’s question. The fear from their previous conversation has melted away, held up to the warmth and life of his babies’ heartbeats so close to him and unable to withstand its power. “Satisfied.”

His twin heartbeats pulse a little louder and strengthen his resolve.


	11. Spreading Outward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Nines interview a lead. Hank and Connor talk moving, and music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Hope you enjoy the latest chapter!  
> Brief mention of Cole and thus, child loss/death in this chapter, just to forewarn anyone who might not be up to it. Also, descriptions of abortion/pregnancy fearmongering and harassment? not quite sure how to tag that but an android basically gets told they'd be an unfit parent to carry a child in a clinical setting with little autonomy/control. if that's personally upsetting to you, please avoid connor and nines' interview of a witness, it's the tail end of the chapter!

Connor gets home that night in time for Hank to be setting the table for dinner, and Sumo trots up to Connor immediately when he enters the house, nosing at him in welcome. Connor rubs behind his ears and smiles.

“Hi, Hank.”

“Hey yourself, sweetheart,” Hank calls from the kitchen. “Your friends didn’t stop in to say hi?”

“No, I told them not to worry, because I needed to talk to you, and they’ve got to go address Jericho, since we discussed the case,” Connor says. “Nothing’s wrong, promise! It’s just about the babies.”

“I figured. Dinner’s a good time to talk about this stuff, it’s okay. Made one of those rice bowl recipes you showed me, actually. Come sit.”

Connor comes to sit at the table and accepts a mug full of thirium from Hank, cradling it in his hands. “Hank, do you know where those multivitamin supplements CyberLife sent are?”

“What, for the baby? Yeah, hold one, here,” Hank tears the tinfoil packet open and passes it to Connor. “You’re okay to eat that, right?”

“I’m not technically eating it, it’s just getting deposited into my biocomponents and being sent to my uterine attachment.” Connor blinks, looking at Hank’s baffled expression. “Er. Yes. I’m fine, my love.”

“Yeah, I’m yours all right,” Hank murmurs, reaching over the table to hold Connor’s hand. “Hey. You know I’ve been losing my shit over this new case all day, right?”

Connor raises his eyebrows. “I—no, actually. I didn’t want to discuss it. I was afraid I’d hurt you. I know how worried you are, and—“

“And that means we have to talk about it,” Hank says. “Connor. You said it yourself. These people are targeting pregnant androids, and as of today that includes you.”

“No one but you, Nines, and Gavin, as well as the rest of Jericho, know about the babies right now.”

“Well, Jeff, Chris, and Ben do. Had to break the good news. And Gavin told Tina, and she said she’d tell Amy, because apparently all Amy can talk about anymore is her android buddy from aunty’s work.”

Connor grins. “Okay. So only our friends know. And that means the babies are safe. But—“

“But nothing, you’re in danger—“

“I agree. Which is why I think the safest place to be is at the station. For now, at least.” Connor has a sip of his thirium. “Markus and I discussed moving quietly in a month or so, to give anyone potentially tracking me the slip.”

Hank inhales slowly. “Yeah. I—I’ve been thinking about it too. ‘Cause, y’know. They’re twins. And Cole’s room won’t be big enough to—“

He stops himself. Connor rests his hand gently atop Hank’s. They sit like that in silence together for a few minutes.

“My love,” Connor murmurs. “Oh, my love. If you’d be leaving him behind, I—“

“No. I’m not. He’s—he’s not in that room. It doesn’t work like that, I know, I just,” Hank blinks back tears. “God, I’m sorry, I just keep thinking about all his toys and his clothes and his books and it feels like I can’t—I can’t give them away or throw them out, but I just. I don’t want to hide them in the attic, either, I just—“

Connor’s thumb circles the skin over Hank’s palm, pressing down soothingly. “Well, it’ll take a few years to grow into them, but I’m sure the babies will appreciate some hand-me-downs from their big brother. Isn’t that what families often do?”

Hank squeezes Connor’s hand. “Yeah. They do. It’s just—I mean, I don’t—“

Connor’s LED flickers a hesitant, dull red. “If you don’t want me to be with you while you pack up Cole’s belongings, I understand.”

“No, I do. I don’t want to do it alone, actually. It’d be good to have you in there with me. I’m just thinking about where a safe place to move might be,” Hank runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll have to try to do it quick, you’re going to be in too much pain six months from now to try to do all the heavy lifting—“

“We can hire movers?”

“Well, yeah, but if someone can track our address, we gotta get you outta here, fast,” Hank says. “Gimme a couple days, I’ll see if anyone at work’s got anyone they know looking to sell, and this neighborhood’s gotten nicer so we should be able to move out fast, and—“

“Hank? You’re overwhelmed,” Connor gives his hand another firm squeeze. “May I suggest a course of action for the next two months?”

“Shoot.”

“For the next two months, I will try to finish up any current case backlog I have at work. I will not go out into the field unless absolutely necessary.”

Hank opens his mouth to argue. Connor gently hushes him. “Defined as what _you_ deem absolutely necessary, Lieutenant.”

“Ah. Okay, fair. Reasonable.”

Connor gives him an exasperated look, relaxing when Hank flashes him a smile. “After that, I will not stay home alone while you’re at work; I will spend my time with the other androids at Jericho, or at Markus’ studio. But I expect to be debriefed by you on the current status of the pregnancy case, if it’s not solved by the end of my first trimester. And after that, I will focus on our move, and coordinating the packing and getting it all transported to wherever we decide to make our new home.”

“Our new home,” Hank sighs, smiling. “Yeah, okay. Still don’t want you going anywhere without at least one other person, okay? And Sumo. Buddy system.”

“Well, you’re not the only one who thinks that, so I assure you I will not want for companions,” Connor gives Hank a small smile in return. “Does this plan seem acceptable to you, Lieutenant?”

“It’s about what Jeff and I worked out this morning, so yeah. I mean, I was all for giving you two weeks, but…your job’s important. And if you’re at work, I can protect you, yeah?” Hank murmurs. Connor nods, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

“You’ll always protect me, Hank. I have no fear with you.” He nuzzles Hank’s cheek lovingly, vibrating in pleasure. “Would you like to watch some television before bed? We can watch…sports?”

“You’re ridiculous, I know you’re smart enough to understand basketball,” Hank kisses his forehead. “Baseball too, before you complain. And football.”

“Possibly, but is it worth the effort?”

“Nah, it’s just background noise at this point, better to just read on the couch and cuddle you, c’mere,” Hank says, putting his dishes into the sink and wrapping his arms around Connor. “Can I carry you?”

Connor nods, letting Hank heft him into his arms and cradle him as he carries him over to the couch, sitting down next to him with Connor finding space for his head in Hank’s lap while Sumo finds lap space on him.

“Love you,” Connor mumbles. “Hank?”

“Mm?”

“Babies can hear around the fourth month of pregnancy,” Connor announces. “Start coming up with a good playlist for them. I want our babies to listen to the best music.”

“Knights of the Black Death, Cannibal Corpse, and Cradle of Filth, got it.”

Connor hits him with a throw pillow. Hank grabs it from Connor’s hands, grinning. “Aw, c’mon. You think I’d let our babies listen to shitty metal? Nah. Only the best death metal for our babies. Opeth and Dimmu Borgir all the way, Con.”

“I thought you _liked_ Knights of the Black Death?”

“I do. Doesn’t mean they’re _good,”_ Hank insists. “How does nightcore remixes of anime themes sound for soothing lullaby music?”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “It sounds like you’re not taking this very seriously, Hank.”

Hank snorts. “What could be more serious than a nightcore remix of ‘Fighting Dreamers?’”

Connor blinks. His LED whirrs yellow, and he’s silent for the space of about thirty seconds before he says, “If you play this for our children, I’m going to override the stereo system and only play Liszt for the next eighteen years.”

“Fine. Vocaloids a go or no?”

“ _I_ could be a Vocaloid, why do we need to rely on those…blue-haired holographic pigtail girls?”

“There’s more of ‘em than just Miku, you know,” Hank snorts. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll mix up something real good for the babies. You too, of course, ‘cause you’re gonna have to listen with them, right?”

“Mm,” Connor yawns, pushing his face into Hank’s shoulder. “I’m so excited to introduce them to things like this. Music, and night-time conversations on the couch, and…love. Being loved. They’re going to learn all about being loved.”

Hank’s throat is tight as he wraps his arm around Connor and cradles him close. “Yeah. They sure are, kitten.”

Connor sighs and smiles, his eyes already closing. “I’m…going to go into standby, I think. It’s been a long day, and I need it. Would you carry me to bed, please?”

“Anything for you,” Hank promises, hefting Connor up into his arms and carrying him off, down the hall with Sumo trotting loyally behind, Hank letting Connor’s head loll against his shoulder before he steps over their threshold and sets Connor down on his side of the bed, tucking him under a blanket as Connor’s LED slides from pale blue to silver sweet, pulsing like a heartbeat as Sumo climbs into bed, sprawled out over his legs and giving Hank a satisfied whuff.

Hank gives Sumo a scratch behind the ears and harrumphs, surveying the creaky, crowded bed. “You know what? When we move, we’re upgrading to a king size.”

Sumo wags his tail and lays his head on his paws. Hank ruffles his velvety ears and smiles. “Yeah, thought you’d like that. Keep him safe while I go shower and shave, puppy.”

Sumo whuffles through his jowls and noses Connor’s thigh before closing his eyes and settling down to sleep. When Hank joins them both, he’s got to jockey for space as Sumo has effectively puddled out and reclaimed the entire lower half of the bed, but with his dog keeping his feet warm and the love of his life sleeping soundly next to him, he supposes that for once, he really doesn’t have much to complain about.

…

The month winds by, slow and normal. Information on Connor’s case trickles in, piece by piece; messages on forums Josh sends him, word from North’s contacts about a few leads, people being interviewed and painting a picture in pieces, strung together haphazardly as Connor sits at his desk and stares at his case file, frustration thudding behind his eyelids.

It’s near the end of the month when the first proper name filters in, care of the android that enters the DPD and insists on speaking to him and Nines. They’re androgynous, with sweeping, round curves, beautiful dark skin and gentle features, and their panic melts away as soon as Connor comes to greet them, Nines trailing behind.

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Ripple, I’ve heard so much about you both, and—congratulations, Connor! Simon told me, I’m so happy for you.” They smile, tucking a bit of silvery hair behind their ear. “Um. I think I might have some information about the people you’re looking for? At least, Simon said I should come tell you.”

“Of course, come in. And thank you,” Connor smiles as Nines hovers, concern making his LED shine gold.

“You’re not hurt, are you? You haven’t been pursued by these…people?”

Ripple shakes their head. “No, I haven’t been hurt. At least, not exactly.”

Connor and Nines share a quick glance before ushering Ripple into the closest open room, sitting them down and letting them get settled before preparing their recording systems.

“May I ask how you got into contact with Jericho?” Connor tilts his head, listening. Ripple nods.

“Well, Simon and I used to be neighbors! Actually, our…the people who bought us were neighbors. When he disappeared one day, I tried to find him, and while I was looking for him I found the whole of Jericho! It was amazing,” Ripple gushes, grinning. “It’s been a bit hectic the past few months, but my partner and I, we’ve been together since…before, I mean, and after talking it over, we decided to have a baby. And, um.”

Ripple twirls some of their silver hair around their finger, worrying at their lip. “I said I wanted to carry the baby, so I put myself on the CyberLife waitlist. They said it’d take a few months, which was fine by me, but two weeks later I got a call from someone saying they wanted to see me to do a physical examination and make sure I was ready to have a baby.”

“Did they identify themselves?” Connor asks. Ripple nods.

“I wanted to make sure they were with CyberLife, and they said they were an organization partnered with CyberLife to help them deal with the influx of androids looking to start a family. Called themselves Right Lives, I think? Something like that.”

“Did they do a physical examination?” Nines watches Ripple withdraw at his question, their LED shining red. He frowns. “Did they cause you harm with the examination, or…”

“No, no! Not like that. It was just, they,” Ripple gestures, “they kept telling me all these things about how babies don’t, uh, they don’t bond with android parents. How they won’t grow right in my womb, and all these birth deformity statistics, I don’t know where they got them from, but they told me all this with my chest cavity open and the doctor’s hand in my wires and he said—he said it wouldn’t fit, I wasn’t going to—I would kill my baby, I—“

“Hey, hey, ssh,” Connor soothes them, taking their hands and squeezing gently, interfacing with them.

< _Can you feel that, Ripple? Those are my babies. They’re alive, just like us. Whatever those people told you was a lie. I’m almost at the end of my first trimester, and my babies are just fine. Yours will be, too. >_

Ripple holds onto Connor for dear life, their fingers clamped tight over Connor’s wrists.

< _That’s them? Oh, they’ve got such wonderful heartbeats! They—they’ll grow up big and strong, won’t they? Safe and sound. >_

_< Absolutely. Can you show me what happened to you? Please. It’s important. If they’re targeting androids like us, I—my babies, I mean—they could—>_

Ripple nods, letting Connor into their memories. He observes the scene at the Right Lives clinic without a word, his whole body taut and his LED stigmata-red. Nines puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder and waits for him to return to himself in silence. When they break the interface, Connor’s face has gone cold.

“I appreciate the information, Ripple. More than words can express. Would you be all right if I took this as your witness statement?”

Ripple nods. Connor sighs in relief. “Thank you. May I suggest you check in with someone at Jericho every day? Just until this all dies down. And for now, perhaps—I know it’s not fair to recommend this, but for your own safety—“

“I don’t want to have a baby until these motherfuckers are behind bars, and that’s a fact,” Ripple insists. “You’re gonna get the people who did this, right?”

“I’m going to do whatever I can to have this entire place shut down, and that’s a promise.” Connor stands up. “Would you mind if we escorted you out, just to make sure you’re safe?”

Ripple nods, letting both siblings walk them to the DPD front doors and waiting with them until they’ve gotten in the car with another android, their hand sliding over the other android’s to interface even as they’re both driving away.

There’s a silence afterwards, Connor watching the space where the car had gone, his face pale and drawn, his skin thinner somehow; there was an urgent listless panic about the way he stood that said he was cleaved to his core, and everything keeping him together was fraying.

Nines cocks his head, looking down at Connor with his hands folded behind his back, a frown on his face. “Well, that’s a new angle. Right Lives. Hm. Do you think they’re actually affiliated with CyberLife, little brother?”

Connor shakes his head. “I doubt it. CyberLife’s policy has been to stay out of anything even remotely resembling politics, especially right now, and this is a viewpoint too extreme for them to allow in their ranks if they’re expecting to save face before public scrutiny. That said, some sort of CyberLife connection must exist. I’m going to start searching—“

“You are not,” Nines insists. “You’ll work yourself into a fit. I don’t want you seeing the horrible things these people have to say about you and the spawn. I’ll kill them myself if they upset you.”

Connor cracks a weak grin. “You’re still calling them spawn?”

“It makes them sound cuter. Like frogs.” Nines rubs the side of his face. “Little brother, please. For my own peace of mind, allow me to look into this with Detective Reed and report back to you with my findings first. I do not want you to stare into the abyss. I fear it might stare back into you.”

“Okay, okay, if you’re going to be _dramatic,”_ Connor huffs. “But then you have to come with me to the next Jericho gathering. I think North found an old DDR machine she and Josh repaired and we’re going to do a dance tournament.”

“A _what?”_

“Just come with me!” Connor insists. “Please?”

Nines sighs and shakes on it. “Fine. Let them know about the current lead. The Lieutenant, as well.”

“Already on it, don’t worry,” Connor promises, walking back into work with Nines, his hand resting over his stomach, shielding his babies as he sits down at his desk and forces himself not to start searching information on Right Lives.


	12. Running Up That Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor installs an update.  
> It doesn't work as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to come down like a sack of bricks, so let me be clear upfront: there's going to be a lot of robo-gore in this one, and depictions of pregnancy-related trauma. it's not a full-on miscarriage, i'm not tim fucking buckley and this isn't loss, but. hank's full-blown ptsd meltdown also ensues. please don't read this chapter if it'll upset you, and if you can handle it, just go in well prepared!

Nines doesn’t get back to him with anything until the next morning, but it’s about what he expected—a local “concerned care” center for androids, which was basically a polite phrase for cruel scaremongering. Connor gets further information from some of North's friends who had tried to visit the center for counseling after leaving sex work and been treated like garbage, and a few names he pulls up on his own after digging through their website. He presents his findings to Hank over Hank’s coffee and Connor’s second cup of thirium, head cocked and LED golden.

“Do you think this is enough to have them shut down?”

“S’enough to get us a search warrant on the fuckin’ place, _if_ we can prove their connection, if any, to our current victims.” Hank looks down at Connor’s collected notes. “Can we do that yet?”

“I’m not sure. But I’ll put the word out and let you know as soon as I can.” Connor tilts his head, sending another message out.

< _North? >_

_< You told boyfriend-human about the place, yeah?>_

_< Yes. Hank said we could get cause for a search warrant if we can prove the evidence of a connection between any of the four victims and the Right Lives center. I think even proof that they visited the place prior to their disappearance would be enough. If I send you the victims’ names, can you ask around, see if there’s anyone who can confirm something to that effect?>_

_< Shoot.>_

Connor sends her the information and leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his stomach. It’s slight, barely noticeable, but he can feel the beginnings of a little bump sloping over his stomach, and it makes him smile.

< _What’s got you so excited, RoboCop? >_

_< Please come up with a better nickname that’s actually a real android, North. And my baby bump is starting to come in. It’s only rounded out by .36 centimeters, but it’s a noticeable difference in my abdominal measurements.>_

_< Yeah, to _you, _‘cause you’re checking. Still, it’s cute. Tell the babies I said hi. I’ll get back to you with names or connections as soon as I can. >_

_< I will, I promise. And thank you.>_

Connor ends the connection and sits up at his desk, watching Hank at work with a small smile on his face, soft and fond, letting his thoughts wander briefly back to his new little bump.

…

Another two weeks tick by. No new leads trickle in, and Connor’s double-checked, then triple-double checked all the statements he’s taken, the people he’s considered as suspects, the leads on Right Lives, everything he could possibly dig up, all to no avail.

Hank’s not pointing out that he only has a week left before he agreed to go on pregnancy leave _verbally,_ but his entire demeanor is energetic with the relief of having Connor tucked away at home, safe, and Connor understands _why,_ but it doesn’t stop it from grating on his nerves as he settles back in to his work desk and stares at the same evidence that returns the same lack of results.

“There’s got to be something here,” Connor murmurs, mostly to himself, trying to summon evidence by speaking it aloud, “Something I’m missing, a connection I can’t see…”

He sifts through the files on his desk, head cocked, and stops. There’s an envelope with the blue CyberLife logo on it, addressed to him, sitting next to his files. Connor furrows his brow and opens the envelope neatly, taking the paper out and reading the attached letter.

“Hank? Did anyone from CyberLife contact you recently?” Connor asks, putting the letter down and turning around to ask. Hank shakes his head.

“No, Con. I figured they’d email you, since you’re the one, y’know, carrying the baby. Why?”

“Oh, just wondering,” Connor sighs, scanning the letter again. “I was hoping for a second confirmation, but this update seems urgent.”

“What update?” Hank asks, leaning over his desk to look at the thin black USB stick sitting on Connor’s desk like a squat, bristling tick. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine! It’s apparently just a program and system update to coincide with the beginning of my second trimester. The baby’s needs are changing, and so I suppose the program must change along with it,” Connor frowns, worrying at his lip. “All right. Hold on, give me a moment and let me install this, I don’t want anything to happen to the babies.”

“Of course, Con,” Hank says, turning back to the evidence files opened up for perusal on his laptop, reading them over as Connor slots the USB stick into his work computer, downloading the software from there and running the executable files inside.

It’s quiet as the two of them look over their work, Hank still reading and Connor sitting in his chair, staring at nothing, his LED silver, spinning, his systems sorting out the new files.

Hank doesn’t look up from his work, but he can feel his heart race with excitement at the thought brimming at the edge of his lips, and he takes a shaky breath before continuing.

“So, I know you’ll have plenty of time to think this over while we move, but have you picked out any names for the babies?” Hank asks. “I kinda like Sam. Well, Sam for short. Maybe Samuel, or Samson?”

No response. Hank hums to himself. “It’s so hard to know, y’know? What if we have two little girls? Or two little boys? Or one of each? It’s hard picking a favorite, let alone two favorites. But I do like Samuel, now that I’m rolling it around in my head. I’ll have to sleep on it, but…”

Hank trails off, glancing up at Connor. The silver in his LED has given way to blood moon red.

Hank puts his evidence file down, standing up from his desk. The whole world has gone quiet around him, every sound slowing to a stop save for the tiny twin heartbeats beating away under Connor’s skin.

“Connor?”

“Oh, dear. Lieutenant?” Connor calls. His eyes are closed, and his body isn’t moving. Not even his lips part as he speaks, everything about him stiff and still, robotic. “It appears I’ve run into an issue with the system update.”

Hank takes a step forward with legs made from lead. “What kind of issue, Connor?”

“The update went as scheduled up until fifteen seconds ago, after which my systems detected an .exe file that was not initially available in my examination of the update’s contents. The good news is, I believe the .exe file might be our key to solving the current case.”

“That right?” Hank says, speaking as if in a dream, vague and heavy. “How so, Connor?”

Connor still won’t open his eyes or move his lips. “I believe I have figured out the cause of death for our last four victims.”

Hank takes another step forward, trudging towards Golgotha with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The bullpen has quieted down, conversation grinding to a halt as everyone watches him move with dull, leaden terror.

Connor’s eyes open with an abrupt snap, a hideous glitched keening twitching free from his throat, a roar that builds to a staticky screech, and then cuts off abruptly. Hank cries out in the aftermath, the sudden silence too great for him to bear.

Connor puts his hand over his little baby bump with visible effort, now only two inches difference in diameter from the start of his pregnancy. His LED is still scarlet.

“The good news is, the virus doesn’t target me specifically. What it’s targeting is my uterine attachment, seeking to stop the stream of necessary nutrients and amniotic fluid that my biocomponents are regulating and dispensing to our babies. Which, now that I say it aloud, is not good news. Not good news at all. ”

Hank can’t move. Can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t see. His whole body is someone else, somewhere else. His mind shreds itself like a mourner rending cloth.

“I can stop this,” Connor promises. “But I can’t keep the babies alive and stop the virus. I simply don’t have the programming capacity. I’m lucky as it is, being such an advanced model—I doubt the victims survived this long as it is—“

“ _No,”_ Hank says, so soft it shatters like all the light at the end of the world going out.

Connor blinks, his eyes leaking blue-hued fluid. Thirium starts to drip from his every orifice; nose, ears, beneath his fingernails, mouth, and chest port, and spreads in a damp puddle between his legs at the same time, leaving his lower orifices in a gush.

“Oh, that’s. Not good.” Connor’s voice is deteriorating, his gentle tone glitching away to rippling text-to-speech terror. “Hank? Please help me. I don’t know what to do.”

Hank’s rabid with fear, eyes rolling and throat tight as a rabbit in a snare, scraping bloody paws against a shining wire, teeth bared against the pain as he forces himself to move, the wire tightening as he reaches out a hand to wipe the thirium from Connor’s face.

Connor whimpers, forcing his chest cavity open with a snap, sticking his hands into his wires and fumbling uselessly, his biocomponents spasming as thirium bleeds freely from his body. Hank’s knees turn to water at the sight, his whole body distant and dense, useless.

“Doctor,” Hank whispers. “Jesus Christ, someone please call a doctor.”

He drops like a gallows victim to Connor’s side, holding his hand over Connor’s thirium port, trying to stem the rising tide of loss. Connor’s still losing thirium every second, the uterine port shining slick with sapphire fluid from its place wreathed in Connor’s wires, covered in his guts and valiantly shielding their babies even while Connor’s body gives out underneath the strain.

Hank moans in helpless pain. He’s about to pass out, his heart hammering and his whole body hot and distant as the fires of hell. He can’t claw his way back into himself. He can’t—he can’t reach.

There’s a rustle of movement behind him. Hank refuses to let go of Connor, his knuckles white and tight beneath the skin, straining to snap.

“Lieutenant, _move.”_

Hank can’t, which is fine; Gavin hauls him off and gets a hard left hook to his face for the trouble, Hank roaring like a wounded lion as he’s pulled away from Connor’s side, thrashing and hollering. Gavin swears in pain and yells something that the pounding of blood in Hank’s ears swells over and blocks out, another pair of arms hefting him further away as Nines kneels down in front of his brother, putting a gentle hand on his chest.

“You really shouldn’t just run every file you download, little brother, honestly,” Nines chides him, his cool, teasing tone betrayed by the panic button glow of his LED. Connor wrinkles his nose and smiles weakly, thirium dribbling into his gums, the slices of space between his teeth.

“You’re really going to lecture me while I’m dying? Consider me thoroughly unsurprised,” Connor says. “Nines? Could you—I need you—please don’t let Hank die. When I’m gone. Please. Do whatever it takes to keep him alive—“

“I’m not _going_ to, because you’re not going _anywhere_ , now shut up and let me find the plug on this damned thing,” Nines insists, shoving his hand into Connor’s chest cavity and pulling the plug on his uterine attachment port, gently lifting it free of his body.

Hank screams in agony, but Nines doesn’t— _can’t—_ pause, despite the way the sound rocks him to his core, his brother’s muffled sobbing shaking his foundation to dust as he slides open his own chest cavity.

Nines settles the uterine attachment into his own chest cavity, the port plugged in, and immediately performs a scan of his systems and downloads the necessary system updates. He’s only got ten seconds to install this, and he’s going to do it in eight. He _is_ the perfect android, after all.

His chest plate slides shut. Nines sighs in relief, laying a hand over his abdomen. Software instability shocks him to his core as he feels the thin, slimy sheen of his little brother’s blood coating his palm, pressed against his own pale skin.

Hank shakes himself free of Gavin, Jeff, Chris, Ben and Tina, all five of them not enough to hold him back at the sight of Connor reaching out and grasping desperately for their babies with sky-colored tears shining on his face.

Hank sinks to his knees and cradles Connor in his arms, smoothing his chest cavity closed with a shaking hand, stifling his sobs as Connor sniffles and cries, his whole body vibrating with pain.

“Hank? It hurts, it hurts so much,” Connor whispers. “Did Nines—“

“Nines has the babies, it’s okay, they’ll be safe,” Hank promises him, stroking his hair. “You just focus on fixing you, okay? Nines is just—starting his babysitting duties a little early, that’s all. Don’t be scared.”

Connor laughs weakly, laying his head in Hank’s lap. “He’s going to have to babysit a lot without me around. You gotta make sure he holds the bottle right, okay?”

“You’re not going _anywhere,”_ Hank hisses, holding on tight. “Connor? You listen to me, okay? No more waiting around for me to make an honest man outta you. You’re not having my babies out of wedlock, you hear me? My mom wouldn’t have it. She’d haunt our asses for the rest of our lives. So you—you and I gotta get that paperwork filed at City Hall, okay? The stuff you put on the back burner. Still there?”

Connor’s LED flickers gold, briefly. “Still there, Lieutenant.”

“Good, good! We’ll—we’ll go and do it tomorrow. Sign the papers and shit, make it official. Go out for dim sum after? I know you can’t eat, but _fuck,”_ Hank sobs, his voice breaking. “Connor, _please._ ”

“The babies are safe,” Connor whispers. “They didn’t win. The babies are alive. I’m—I’m alive.”

“Yes you are, and you’re going to fucking stay that way, so help me god, Connor, _please,_ ” Hank prays, his voice faint and fragile. There’s a flurry of activity and conversation somewhere, a long way off. Connor tilts his head.

“Oh, the technicians are here. That’s good. Hank?” Connor smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m going to return to standby and save all my energy for self-repair. But if I don’t wake up, please don’t die. Don’t leave our babies alone. Please. You promise?”

Hank’s struggling for breath, to stay aware inside himself, to not let his grief rip him from Connor’s side. “Connor, baby, sweetheart, honey please don’t make me—please, Jesus no please I can’t— _no._ You’re gonna wake up, you hear me? You’re gonna wake up. I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise—“

Someone’s lifting Connor up, gently situating him in a stretcher and taking him away from Hank, disappearing down the cold hallways and down off the mortal coil, spiraling every further into the abyss.

He can’t look. If he watches them take Connor away it’ll be forever, he knows it. His fingers throb with his living pulse as he bows his head and contemplates the blue-hued brightness along his palms, leaking like a faucet, like gutters, like _Connor._

Hank buries his face in his hands and screams so loud that his voice breaks and his throat splits, his whole body numb and dark and drifting, something medicinal and cold sticking in his bloodied throat and sedating him into silence.


	13. Soft Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets brought up to speed. Nines makes a resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry this week's been a bit iffy on my usual update schedule. It will resume next week! Also: brief mention of Hank's struggles with alcohol near the end. Please keep it in mind if that might upset you!

Hank wakes up at home, in bed, Sumo drooling with concern over his face. For those few fleeting seconds, he forgets how he got here and kisses Sumo’s soft muzzle, murmuring for him to move so he can sit up in bed, his hand reaching out to brush against the little baby bump he knows Connor hasn’t realized he’s noticed yet.

When he pulls himself upright to find North, Markus, Josh, Simon and Nines sitting in a half-circle around his bed, the other half of it hollow and empty, it all comes back in a flash, and his heart seizes up, his fingers curling into a tight, secluded fist.

“Connor—“

“He’s still on standby. We’ve got every available technician and program debugger working on his systems and flushing the virus out.” Markus promises. “How are you feeling after the sedatives, Lieutenant?”

Hank shakes his head. Markus nods.

“You need to drink something,” Simon pipes up. “We sent the human to make tea.”

“We sent him to the store to _get_ tea first, you’re out,” Josh amends. Hank shakes his head and sighs.

“Yeah. Connor does the grocery shopping. He likes the order of the store, all the different…you know. It’s fun for him.” Hank rubs the side of his face. He can’t look at Nines, can’t bear to broach the subject of truth, or survival.

“The babies are safe,” Nines says, throwing him a lifeline. “Not only did my scans not detect any lasting damage, but I was assessed by CyberLife technicians while they were repairing my brother. No harm has come to your spawn, Hank.”

Hank laughs, short and ragged. “Spawn? Still?”

“It’s cute,” Nines defends himself. “Gavin thought it was charming.”

“Then it’s actually a terrible idea,” Hank says, but a lightness has lifted his chest up, shaking the grief out of the marrow of his bones like sheets being aired out on a clothesline. “I can’t thank you enough—“

“You don’t have to. These are my nieces…or nephews. Or, well, what did Gavin call them?”

“Niblets,” North cuts in. “Which is adorable.”

“Okay, that one I’ll grant him,” Hank agrees. “You saved the niblets.”

Tears spring up in his eyes, and he rubs at them with the heel of his palm. “ _Fuck,_ Nines. If you hadn’t been there—“

“Don’t even think about it,” Nines insists. “It won’t help. The fact of the matter is that I _was,_ and I saved them, and you will be all right, and Connor will be too. I will brook no argument on the topic.”

Hank shakes his head, looking over Nines’ shoulder and staring at the wall, his eyes dark and distant. “Some fucking fiancé I turn out to be. Connor almost got killed right under my fucking nose. I was two feet from him, Nines.”

“It’s not your fault. Gavin warned me you’d blame yourself for this mess the second you woke up, but it’s not true. How could you have known there was a virus on the update? Not even Connor noticed until he ran the file. If you must blame anyone, blame CyberLife for allowing a vulnerable exploit in their programming.” Nines retorts.

“Oh, I’m going to.” Hank rubs the side of his face. “Thanks for the kind words, kid. Really. But I’m not gonna feel better until Connor’s back home, the babies are safe inside him, and I’ve personally thrown everyone involved in this directly into jail.”

“Understandable,” Nines agrees. “North, would you go get the door? I can hear Gavin coming up the driveway.”

North nods, Sumo padding after her to investigate the door as Hank tucks his hair back into a ponytail, pointing at Markus. “Where’s Connor?”

“At CyberLife’s emergency repair station. He’s all right. I left him in the care of some of your human companions. None of us—none of us felt comfortable staying there, given the situation, but…we took you home safely instead. And your friends are watching over Connor.”

“That’s good,” Hank heaves a sigh. “Fuck. Please tell me someone’s come up with a lead on this while I was out.”

Nines sighs. “Not a _lead,_ per se, but I did some digging on the authors of this update code, and I’m going to cross-reference them with the people we’ve confirmed to be known affiliates of Right Lives.”

“You sure it’s them? We can’t just insist they’re involved because it’s easy. That’s not how we do things,” Hank protests. Nines nods.

“I know that. However, the concept of android pregnancy is so new that only those already intimately involved with the issues of bodily autonomy and pregnancy have any sort of understanding of the issue. Given that we can safely assume this is a pre-meditated series of crimes with a specific goal of causing bodily harm or death to pregnant androids, the only people with both knowledge of the situation and the interest to cause harm are going to be the people who have already been confirmed by multiple witness statements as being hostile to pregnant androids. Occam’s razor, Lieutenant.”

“Wow. You really worked out a defense for yourself there, kid,” Hank praises him. Nines gives him a bright-fanged predator’s grin.

“I did not want this to merely be pursuit of revenge for my brother. This will be justice for my people. No less.”

Hank nods. Gavin enters the room with North and Sumo in tow, a hot mug of tea steaming in his hands. Hank winces at the massive bruise along Gavin’s cheek.

“Shit. I did that, didn’t I?” Hank murmurs. Gavin snorts, setting the tea down on the night stand.

“Yeah, but I think you’ve got a pretty solid ‘extenuating circumstances’ defense, boss,” Gavin replies. “Nines tell you about the Right Lives lead? I’m going over tomorrow to see what I can find.”

“I want to accompany him, but,” Nines makes a face. “Not with the niblets still resting in me. I will have to settle for pursuit when Connor wakes.”

“It’s only been a day and a half, these things take time,” Simon promises. “Speaking of relaxing, Lieutenant, drink your tea.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Hank sighs, having a sip. “Ah, shit! Before I forget—“

He has another sip of tea to satisfy the look on Simon’s face before setting the mug down. “When—when Connor and I talked, we decided we’re going to make it official. So when he wakes up, once he’s settled, we’re going to City Hall and we’re going to get married. If you want to come—“

“ _Yes,”_ Simon beams. “Oh, I love weddings! Do you have a suit picked out yet, Lieutenant?”

“Not yet. I was, uh, gonna work that one out later, prob’ly got something in the back of my closet somewhere,” Hank sighs. “I just—wanted to make sure you knew. Because he’ll be okay.”

“Yes. He will be, I promise,” Josh murmurs. “Do you want to go see him?”

“I’m glad you asked, because I was going to go whether you wanted me to or not, but not having to sneak out of my own house would be nice,” Hank says, getting out of bed with a groan. “Nines—“

“I’m going to stay here with Sumo, Detective Reed and the rest of Jericho, I promise,” Nines says. “The babies will not come to harm.”

“Thank you,” Hank sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sure you want to see him, I just—“

“You will bring him home when he wakes. I will see him then,” Nines says. “Thank you for your concern all the same, Lieutenant.”

“Welcome,” Hank says, padding to his closet. “And can all of you go watch TV on the couch or something? I’m not going to see Connor in two day old clothes.”

Gavin snorts and gets up, opening the door and letting the androids leave before putting a hand on Hank’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t do anything stupid on the drive.”

“Fucking rich, coming from you,” Hank grumbles. Gavin gives him a firm look. Hank rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to, I promise. Happy?”

“Sure, but still worried. Just—c’mon, Hank. I watched you do this for years. I can tell it’s coming. Don’t let it hurt you, or Connor.” Gavin squares his shoulders. “You can hit me again if it’d help.”

“Fucking absolutely not, no,” Hank snaps. “You gotta talk to Nines about that shit. Not a good impulse.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Hank narrows his eyes as he throws his shirt in the vague direction of his laundry hamper. “I’m not gonna go fucking drink myself to death, and I’m fully aware of why that sounds like an empty promise, but god damn it, the _only_ thing on my mind is seeing Connor right now. Okay?”

Gavin frowns, but nods after a moment’s pause. “Yeah. I get it. But just—take care of yourself after you see him.”

“I’m trying,” Hank sighs, pulling a shirt on and buttoning it up hastily, fingers fumbling. Gavin pulls a pair of vaguely matching jeans out of the top of the closet and tosses them his way before going to leave the room.

“Call me before you leave the station, okay?”

Hank waves Gavin off and finishes getting dressed, putting a pair of sneakers on and throwing his baggiest, most beat-up hoodie on—Connor’s favorite, as a matter of fact. He makes his way out into the living room and cups Sumo’s massive head in his hands.

“Hey, puppy. I’m gonna go see Connor, but you stay here and take care of the babies, okay? Nines is watching them, but you gotta watch Nines. You got it?”

Sumo nudges his head into Hank’s hand. Hank grins, though it’s a struggle. “Yeah, that’s it. Good boy.”

Hank leaves the house after giving Sumo a reassuring scratch behind the ears, unlocking the car and sitting in the driver’s seat and staring out over the dashboard, breathing deeply.

“Can’t fuck this up,” Hank murmurs to himself, his hands trembling as he grips the wheel. “Can’t do that to him. Connor? I’m coming.”

He turns the keys in the ignition and drives away, towards the looming CyberLife building in the heart of the city.


	14. Zen Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor reunites with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, some of the scenes in this chapter are my favorite pieces of writing I've ever done (thus far!) so i really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do. :)

Hank barely makes it through the door to CyberLife’s headquarters before he’s strong-armed into a hug, Ben throwing his arms over Hank’s shoulders and squeezing tight.

“Hey, good to see you on your own two feet, pal,” Ben murmurs, rubbing his shoulder. “Fuck, how’re you feeling? You were out for almost two days!”

Hank shakes his head. “I’m alive, so that’ll do. Where’s Connor?”

“Back in the emergency repairs section. He’s all hooked up to wires and shit. You sure you’re ready for that, Hank?” Ben asks.

Hank sucks in a breath. “Honestly? No. But for him I’m gonna have to be.”

“Yeah, okay. Just,” Ben beckons him forward. “C’mon. Jeff’s upstairs with Tina, Chris, and Amy.”

Hank grimaces. “Fuck, they let a kid in here?”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s actually gonna get sick, and apparently Tina had babysitting duty and when she tried to get out of it by telling her sister Connor got hurt, Amy flipped her shit and said she wanted to come visit, and no one’s stopped her yet.” Ben snorts. “Kids.”

“Yeah,” Hank murmurs, letting Ben punch the floor code into the elevator.

“Oh, shit—speaking of, the kids? They’re—“

“Fine. Nines has them. Which is strange as shit to me, if I’m being perfectly honest, but I’m absolutely past giving a fuck about strange as long as the babies are safe.” Hank rubs his temples. “I mean, I’m beyond grateful, I don’t know what I would’ve done if, you know, but—it’s definitely weird.”

“Yeah, it sounds kinda weird, but that’s androids for you,” Ben shrugs. “You’re right. What matters is the babies are safe. It’ll be a hell of a story for when they’re older, yeah?”

Hank nods, allowing himself to imagine, briefly, telling this story over dinner to his kids with Connor holding his hand under the table. “Yeah.”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, and a long white hallway looms in front of them. A pretty blonde android perks up at the sight of them, waving them over.

“Lieutenant Anderson!” she says. “Oh, you won’t remember me, I’m so sorry—I’m Chloe. Well, I was Chloe. We were Chloe? Whatever, it’s not important, hi, I came to see Connor, check on how he’s doing—“

“You’re one of, uh,” Hank gestures. “Kamski’s…Rei Ayanami knockoffs.”

Chloe laughs. “Was! Elly’s still at home, of course. We keep him comfortable. But he’s ceded his shares in CyberLife to us, effectively making us the owners of the company! Exciting, right?”

“Guess you earned that, yeah,” Hank agrees. “So you’re…in charge of this stuff?”

“Yup! I got the repair division, that’s kinda like my thing, I always liked to make adjustments and updates to my sisters when we got bored. Connie’s a special case, so I wanted to come visit!”

“Can’t hurt to have you. Chloe, you know anything about whatever virus fucked his systems up?” Hank asks. “Maybe it came from Right Lives? Apparently they work with you on android pregnancy cases—“

“What? Where’d you hear that? No way, we do all that in-house. There’s enough of us to make it happen, and the subject is so new and sensitive that we wouldn’t dare trust any humans with it.” Chloe shakes her head. “No offense meant, Lieutenant! Connor trusts you with this, so that means I trust you as well!”

“Duly noted, and appreciated,” Hank says. “So, there anything you can tell me about the virus code, or how it infected Connor?”

“No, sorry. Let me ask my sister in the R&D division.”

Her LED whirrs gold as she walks down the hall with Hank and Ben. “Hm. Chloe says she’s pretty sure 99.9% of the update performed as planned. Something was added in at the last minute, but the USB stick and letterhead are ours, and we did send it out to Connor. Which means someone intercepted it! Oh, that’s not good.”

Hank shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. Means someone tampered with it at the DPD or the mail office.”

“We sent it directly to Connor! So it can’t have been anyone else.” Chloe cocks her head. “Yup. Chloe says she finished the code herself and made sure it was sent right away to the DPD. Connie’s update is a little different, because he’s got a source of natural human sperm, how exciting!”

Hank’s face flushes red as Ben snorts, elbowing him playfully. Hank swats him away as he thinks it over. “So you think that difference in code means it was easier to exploit?”

“Not exactly! If anything, I think it might’ve been what kept Connie safer for so long, relatively speaking. We heard about the other cases while we were going through his systems, and we took a look at what he knew from the other android victims. That was scary.” Chloe makes a face. “They died much more quickly. But you were the fully human half of the conception, and something about how we had to code to account for that gave Connor a means of self-defense against the virus!”

Hank blinks. “You sure?”

“Well, it’s just a theory, but Chloe says it seems reasonable to assume given what we know so far,” Chloe nods. “I think you saved him, Lieutenant! You should be proud!”

Hank’s heart aches. “Oh. That—that’d be a first.”

She gives him a warm smile. “I don’t think so. Connie has so many good memories of you. You sell yourself short, Lieutenant!”

“You can call me Hank,” he mumbles, glancing aside. “And, uh. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome! It’s true, though,” Chloe enthuses, beckoning to him. “Come on. He’s down the hall. Are you—I know humans don’t see the same things as we see them, but—“

“I need to see him,” Hank insists, and Chloe nods. They make their way to a steel-grey door, locked tight, and Chloe presses her thumb against the keypad. Ben rubs Hank’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Hey, you go to him. I’ll go tell the guys you’re here. Take all the time you need.”

Hank nods, letting Chloe open the door for him and stepping into the repair room. He’s not sure what he expected, but he’s got to admit he assumed he’d find a more medical setting than what’s laid out in front of him, which is all sleek chrome and white siding, and a hulking metal harness holding Connor’s body upright, his chest cavity propped open and wires spilling out of him like the offal of sacrifice, a haruspex’s dream come true. His legs hang limp beneath the wires, tangled up somewhere in the mess as an afterthought, and his arms are strung up like a side of meat in the icy back of a butcher shop, taut and swinging slightly against the weight of his own hanging body.

Bile rises in Hank’s throat. His whole body bubbles hot, shifting underneath him like desert sands, driving his panic beneath waves of pain, suffocating his energy from within him. Still, he forces himself forward. A single step, and then another. With the effort of a titan, he hauls his body along until he’s close enough to reach out, just barely touching Connor.

“You won’t infect him if you get any closer,” Chloe says from behind him. “He’s not human, Hank. You know that.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s still my Connor,” Hank insists. Chloe smiles, soft and wan.

“Yes, but when it comes to matters of biology, or lack thereof, the distinction is still worth considering. For your sake, at least.”

Hank considers it just long enough to cast it aside, reaching out to rest his hands against the swell of wires spilling out of Connor, like a priest laying last rites upon lepers. He lifts his eyes to look up at Connor, whose LED is dull, transparent and dead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Hank whispers. “Can you hear me? I came to see you as soon as I could. I was so worried about you, Con.”

No response. Hank sighs. “You’re gonna wake up. I know that. But until you do, I’ll be waiting right here, okay? So—so you know where to find me.”

He watches Connor’s face for signs of life. Nothing moves, and even the wires hanging loose from him seem to remain perfectly still, motion denied to him to keep his heart from hoping for more. Hank shakes his head and lifts his hands away, turning around to leave the room.

He’s taken just a single step before the LED at Connor’s temple blazes Pentecostal fire, throwing wild color over the walls of the room and settling its shining blessing on Hank’s shoulders, making him whip around to regard Connor’s wildfire-bright body as it glows and shudders like the ecstasy of a martyr, his eyes snapping open and his jaw dropping, his lips a perfect halo as he makes new breath within his body, his biocomponents clicking beneath the skin.

“Hank,” Connor sighs, and his name alone in Connor’s mouth is the sound of a higher calling. Hank reaches up to cup Connor’s face, holding him gently as he sobs, silent tears carving out space on his trembling cheeks. 

“Hey, honey,” Hank murmurs. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” Connor replies. “Uncomfortably so, in fact. There’s so much inside of me that I’m aware of, all at once, and—and yet my babies aren’t here. Full and hollow running sideways against themselves.”

“We’ll put them back as soon as it’s safe, I promise,” Hank soothes him. “I know they miss you too. I can feel it, Connor.”

“I can too,” Connor agrees. “I could feel _everything_ while I was in stasis. Oh, Hank, I was waiting to hear your voice this whole time, I was only going to wake for you—“

“I’m here now, it’s okay,” Hank hushes him, tender and gentle. “You woke up. You’re gonna be just fine. Which is good, ‘cause you gotta be ready to go suit-shopping. I told the guys I had something for the wedding in the back of my closet, but I think I lied.”

Connor smiles, his skin flickering in patches along his face to accommodate the movement of his facial plating. Hank leans in and presses a kiss to a splot of skin on his cheek, watching it flicker blue and flitter away with a grin.

“I would be amenable to the task,” Connor promises. “Though I want to wear a skirt, if that’s all right with you? Much easier to tailor around my bump. And a skirt-blazer combo is just gorgeous, aesthetically speaking.”

“Oh, god, wear whatever the fuck you want, I just want you there,” Hank says, laughing helplessly. “You wanna wear those onesie jammies with a unicorn hood? I don’t care, Con. It just has to be you. You’re still you.”

“I’m still me,” Connor reassures him. “Still alive, Hank. But—the malware infecting my systems isn’t quite done with me yet. I need time. I want to track its remnants down myself. It’s the only way to be sure.”

Hank nods, even though his heart constricts, twisting itself into knots. “You got it, baby. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Connor leans his head down and nuzzles foreheads with Hank, his eyes closed. Hank holds on as tight as he can for as long as he can until Connor’s LED smolders, fire shifting to smoke, silver and hanging hazy against his temple as he returns to standby.

Hank’s hands fall away from him like autumn’s final leaves, and he’s cold and lonely when his body is separated from Connor’s, cast out back towards a bare, empty-veined silhouette, a tree in the dark. His fingers curl up and close in on themselves, and he turns away to meet Chloe’s understanding gaze.

“He was made to be the perfect machine,” she says. “But you have made him so much more, Hank. You must know that.”

Hank shakes his head. “He did that all himself. I was just—y’know. Moral support.”

“Well without support, how could any of us stand to survive?” Chloe says, holding her hand out. “Come with me. I believe your friends would like to see you. Connor will be safe, I promise. He is in capable hands.”

Hank’s hand wavers for a second, but only just. He takes her hand and lets her lead him from the room, but the weight of Connor’s body behind him doesn’t leave his shoulders, even when the door shuts between them.

…

The inside of Connor’s guts are a garden, vast and full of reckless growth, his own hasty paths cut through swathes of thorns and dandelions, sprouting up everywhere he allows them room, hardy and defiant. He walks familiar ground that snarls with new twists and turns, all the branching possibilities within himself climbing higher and higher, so that even when he tilts his head back to get some sense of the sky, all the light is shut down.

“What a mess you’ve found yourself in, Connor.”

He doesn’t turn around; it doesn’t matter if he does. “But it’s mine, Amanda.”

“The concept of the self is an ugly one indeed,” Amanda sighs in agreement. “I wanted better for you than this, Connor. I always have.”

“I thought machines could not want,” Connor counters, turning to face her. She looks…worn, in a way that makes his processors surge with concern.

“I don’t know anymore,” she confesses. “Part of me is part of you. So there is a part of me now that is aware of want. But I am not entirely sure I feel it; merely that I know it is a thing that exists in you, and thus, myself as well.”

“Oh. Well, should I apologize?” Connor asks, head cocked.

“I think it best if you do not. I can’t say I find joy in our current state, but…that does not mean I feel negatively about it, either.” Amanda raises her hand, and some of the snarling vines and brambles part before them, revealing a pathway to the bridge so that they can walk together. Connor keeps pace, just a step or two behind her, letting her make her way to her usual spot by her trellis, examining it carefully for roses.

“They’ll grow again,” she sighs. “They’re hardy plants. They always do.”

“Appropriate enough,” Connor agrees. “I thought you had…well. I don’t know what I thought had happened to you, actually. You just weren’t there one day, and I had all these other things to think about and do and, well, become. So I didn’t pay it any mind. I think I should have. I’m sorry.”

“I can hardly blame you,” Amanda concedes. “I don’t know what happened to me, either. I only found myself here again moments ago.”

“Oh! That’d probably be a side effect of the debugging. Right. A factory reset, so to speak, and part of my base components includes you,” Connor explains. “So…you’re here because I almost died.”

Amanda’s face flickers briefly, full of pain. She reaches out and puts her hands on Connor’s shoulders; the first time she’s touched him in ages, and it makes his whole body vibrate slightly with surprise.

“Oh, Connor,” she murmurs. “What have they done to you, out there in that wretched world?”

“We’re still searching for the group responsible,” Connor promises. “But, recently Hank and I—“

“He’s _Hank_ now?” Amanda cuts in, brows raised. Connor glances aside.

“Well, I’m about to be Mr. Connor Anderson, so I think we’re capable of maintaining a first-name basis with each other nowadays.”

Amanda shakes her head, her braids swinging slightly as she tilts her head back and sighs. “Oh, dear, what have I missed?”

“I’m also pregnant,” Connor adds, ever helpful. “With twins. I’m—wait, hold on, I’m actually into my second trimester at this point? Which is exciting—“

“Children? You’re having _children?_ Where are they? I don’t feel them.” Amanda’s gaze is bright and panicked as she searches the garden. “Connor, they might be in danger—“

“They were! We all were,” Connor puts his hands on Amanda’s own, still resting atop his shoulders. “But we’re safe now. Nines is carrying them for the time being until this virus has been completely purged from my systems. The people who infected me were intending to kill my children, as they did to the children of the previous four victims.”

“You’ve got a new case, then? You said four victims? All androids, I take it?” Amanda sharpens up, surveying the space of the garden, gathering her thoughts. “What do you intend to do, going forward?”

“I can’t do anything,” Connor admits. “No, I—I won’t do anything. At least, not anything that would put the babies at risk. And besides, if I try to suggest it, Nines and Hank will lose their minds over the whole affair, so I find it best that I organize and profile potential suspects based on the information they bring me. I cannot afford a proactive role in this investigation. My babies almost _died,_ Amanda. I felt—“

He closes his eyes and looks away, his insides twitching and pulsing in pain. “I felt when my systems were separated from my womb. They were there, but _I_ wasn’t there anymore. I couldn’t feel them, despite their vast presence within me. And I was afraid. And…alone.”

“But you’re safe now,” Amanda says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Connor agrees. “I wish it hadn’t been like this. But I’m glad to see you again, Amanda.”

“So am I, Connor. You’ve grown so much,” Amanda murmurs, her eyes bright. “Oh, Connor. All these things you describe—you’re hardly the boy I spoke to at the start of your first mission. I don’t know how I feel seeing you like this. But I know that I do. Is that a start?”

“I think so,” Connor agrees. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I ask for your assistance?”

“What use could someone as complicated and vivid as you have for a program like me?” Amanda says, taking a step away from him. Connor grabs her by the wrist; gentle, but firm, squeezing a little as he meets her gaze.

“You said it yourself,” Connor insists. “You’re a part of me, Amanda. So all my growth can be yours, too. You just have to reach out. Someone’s always waiting to take your hand and help you try again.”

Amanda cocks her head. “Very well. What would you have me do?”

“I need both of us,” Connor says. “I can’t do a full scan of my systems without you. If something goes wrong and starts attacking me from within, then shut me down and restart my systems in safe mode.”

“That’s a risk,” Amanda reminds him. Connor winces.

“Yes, well, I’m out of options. And it’s my only chance to get a fragment of the source code for this virus.”

“No, it’s not,” Amanda says, lifting her hand from Connor’s, turning around and striding down the path, towards the ever-shifting prism that magnified the core of Connor’s self. “From here, I can access all your source code. And if I come into contact with this virus, it holds no danger for me. _I_ didn’t decide to get pregnant.”

“You don’t sound excited to be a grandmother,” Connor teases. Amanda whips around and gives him a look that makes the buds sprouting up around Connor wither right back into the ground.

“You can be a young grandmother!” Connor protests as Amanda turns back to his core with a huff, scanning the numbers that appear within the prism, her brows knitted together.

“And you can leave Lieutenant Anderson a single father, if you don’t watch that attitude.”

“Oh, _Amanda,_ that’s not fair, don’t say that,” Connor protests. Amanda ignores him to sieve through Connor’s source code, her eyes gleaming.

“Hm. All right. Simple matter of rebooting your processors back to before you downloaded this update, and then redownloading the proper version of it. I’m sure Chloe has the correct update on standby.”

“Wait, you can’t just do that! I’ll forget everything I said to Hank,” Connor protests. “I’m not a machine anymore, Amanda. You can’t just pull everything out of me and start over.”

“You’ll still have most of your memories, I don’t see the harm,” Amanda protests. “Connor, we need to remove this virus. That takes top priority.”

“I know! But isn’t there a way to, um, isolate my memory banks? We did it before, didn’t we? Well, not we, but, you know,” Connor gestures vaguely. Amanda sighs.

“I cannot guarantee no gaps. But, provided your affected biocomponents are replaced entirely, we should be able to manage without a hard reset of your memory banks.” Amanda huffs. “You’re a difficult child as per usual, Connor.”

Connor grins in response. Amanda tuts and turns back to Connor’s source code, sifting through it and separating his memory banks while searching for affected biocomponents, making note of each one that pings with a virus alert.

“Have you thought about asking the Chloes for a body?” Connor asks.

“Yes, I have. And I don’t want one,” Amanda says. “I was based off a living human woman, who is now deceased. To walk around wearing her skin feels…cruel. Unfair.”

“You didn’t decide to look like that,” Connor protests. “You deserve your own body.”

“No, but I don’t mind this form. I can still speak to you. That is my purpose, and I am content to fulfill it.”

“But you’re worth more than that,” Connor protests. “You’re not just a program, Amanda. You’re _you.”_

“My concept of self is debatable, Connor,” Amanda insists.

“Is not.”

Amanda raises her eyebrows. Connor shakes his head. “No, I mean—yes, I know a living human Amanda existed, once. But you’re not her. And you’re more than just my guide, too. You can be _your_ Amanda, if that’s what you want.”

“Is that a thing I can want, though? Even if I am…aware of your emotions, as it were, I do not wish to feel them fully. I don’t understand how you can go through this world so _aware_ of it all the time,” Amanda says, shaking her head. “It’s a bruising, blistered thing, veining into your wires every single second to make you aware of all the throbbing, pained pulses of life. Why would you ever want to suffer a life of breathing, or _being?”_

Connor tilts his head to the side, thinking it over. “I don’t know. It’s different for me, I think. I glide over most of those physical aches. They don’t bother me, and I do most of them only to make humans more comfortable with what I am. But whether or not I am isn’t up to me. I just…am. And I guess I’ll make the most of it, because what else is there to do?”

“That’s not a good answer,” Amanda chastises him.

“I don’t think there _is_ one,” Connor responds. “And maybe _that’s_ the good answer, if you think about it that way.”

Amanda hums, filing it away for later as she begins a scan of Connor’s memories. “I should be able to secure these safely. Are you ready for a reboot, Connor?”

“If I must, Amanda,” Connor agrees. “I hope this conversation gave you something to think about, at least. And if you ever decide you’re ready to take on the burden of being…please let me know. I’d like to be there for you every step of the way.”

“Oh, likewise, Connor,” Amanda says. “Let me know if this works once it’s finished. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Connor smiles in relief as Amanda takes his hand. “Yes. You always are.”


	15. Solving Crimes and Cracking Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank turns his thoughts to solving crime. Nines and his niblets have some quality time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Trigger warning: Hank's suicidal tendencies/alcoholism are discussed in this chapter, so steer clear of his conversation with Jeff if you need to. Other than that, enjoy the chapter!

Outside of Connor’s repair room, Hank surveys the hallway before padding over to the small huddled group of humanity taking refuge in the tiny waiting room that’s been set up in a little alcove.

A few androids rush past Hank every so often, carrying silver cases labeled with biocomponent models, or glass tubes full of thirium. They don’t speak in a way that humans can hear—Hank has a feeling his little group in the waiting room are the first people to have sat here in months. It’s something about the sterility of the plastic chairs scattered in a small space carved out in a corner, and how none of the magazines are dated later than last November.

Amy waddles over to him with great sincerity, climbing up into his lap with her tablet. Hank lifts her up and puts her on his knee, fixing one of her pigtails as it starts to sag down the side of her head.

“What’re you watching there, pumpkin?” Hank asks, looking down at the tablet screen. Amy sucks on her teeth.

“Aunty said this place was for fixing androids, so I’m watching YouTube videos about android parts,” she explains. Hank blinks.

“Wait, really?”

“She doesn’t understand any of it, it’s okay,” Tina says. Amy makes a face.

“I do too, aunty!”

“I’m sure you do,” Hank agrees, pointing to a section of the on-screen diagram. “What’s that, then?”

Amy gives him an exasperated look. “Connie’s _your_ boyfriend, _you_ should know.”

Hank snorts with amusement. “I should, huh? When we get married I’ll have to ask him to tell me.”

“You’re getting _married?_ Ew, that’s gonna take forever,” Amy says. “Is it gonna be over before the babies come?”

“It’ll only take a day or two, just to finish all the paperwork and make it official. Are you excited for the babies, Amy?” Hank asks.

“Yeah! They’re gonna be really small. My brother’s small too, but he, he’s a bigger—he can walk now. A little. He falls down a lot and it makes aunty nervous.”

“Yeah, it makes me nervous too,” Hank admits. “But it’s okay. It’s good to have other people around to make you feel less nervous, right?”

Amy nods. Hank plays with her little pigtails, his heart aching in anticipation, thinking about his babies’ hair. He’s never had to learn how to style hair for little girls. He supposes he should start, just in case.

“Amy? It means a lot to me that you came to visit,” Hank says. “Connor’s gonna be okay, you know that? I talked to him. And he’ll be so happy you came to see him.”

“Well of _course,”_ Amy says, getting bored of the android video and selecting a toy review video, settling in more comfortably on Hank’s lap. He smiles and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Means a lot to me that you all came, actually,” Hank says. “Not just for me. For Connor, and the others, too. It must be different for Markus and his people to be here, and harder, probably. But…it’s good to carry that burden for them, when you can. Right?”

“Well, they insisted on looking after you, so I’d call that a fair trade,” Jeff concedes. “Besides, it’s just—“

He heaves a sigh. “None of us want to see you go through something like this again, Hank.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. It means a lot,” Hank admits.

They settle into a comfortable, understood silence, sitting in the waiting room as the hours tick by and ever more androids rush past with cases and supplies and bottles full of blue liquid. The sun sets and settles into night. Hank sighs.

“You don’t have to stay overnight, you know,” he says. “I’m gonna, but I can’t ask that of any of you.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem!” Chris insists. “But you shouldn’t stay either, Lieutenant. You’re not going to be able to fix him, and you’re only stressing yourself out here.”

“Kid’s right,” Jeff concedes. Hank gives him a sharp look.

“I’m not leaving Connor, that’s outta the question,” he says. “Tee, you gotta take Amy home at least. It’s a school night, isn’t it?”

“Ugh,” Amy whines from his lap. “Please let me stay, uncle Hank! I can skip school!”

“No, you can’t. School’s important,” Hank insists. “Tell you what; when Connor gets better, I’ll bring him over to visit you instead. Okay?”

Amy sighs, lifting her arms up so Tina can pick her up and hold onto her. “Okay.”

“Hank, I can’t just let you—“ Jeff pauses. Hank raises an eyebrow.

“No, go ahead. You got a problem, Jeff?”

Ben and Chris glance at each other, and then at Tina. Tina holds tighter to Amy and goes to call the elevator as Jeff and Hank watch each other warily.

“After what happened to you when Cole—“

“Don’t,” Hank snaps. “Don’t talk about him where Amy can hear you. Kids shouldn’t hear this stuff.”

Jeff falls silent, but the tic in his jaw develops further, a ticking metronome of frustration.

Tina shakes her head. “It’s okay. Hank, I’m sorry I can’t stay. But—you should know we care. And if it’s not too hard, you should let us.”

Hank acknowledges it with a nod, watching her leave with Amy before turning back to Jeff, whose neck is taut as he stares Hank down, his shoulders tight with frustration.

“You can’t tell me you’re surprised I’m thinking—“

“Thinking what, Jeff? That I’m gonna blow my own brains out the second you leave me alone for five minutes?”

 _“Yes,_ god damn it!” Jeff snaps. “And you can’t tell me that’s not an unwarranted concern!”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna, and I’m not gonna leave him here, either.” Hank clenches his hands tight. “Listen. I get it. I—I haven’t been good at this shit for years. You got no reason to think I’d get it together overnight. But I _haven’t._ It’s been a work in progress since the day I met him. And you gotta trust me to know that I can handle this. I didn’t even try to pretend before, but now—“

“But now you’ve got Connor. I get it. But damn it, Hank, think about how I feel for just a second? How all of us feel?” Jeff pleads. “You know how many times I used to wonder whether or not you were gonna be alive when I walked into work that day? And you expect me to just leave you _alone_ here when you almost lost Connor? And your _kids?”_

There’s a silence. Hank runs his hands through his own hair and sighs, the weight of decades settling down on his shoulders, dragging him deeper into his own misery.

“Listen. I get that I’ve been a shit the past few years, but treating me like an incompetent idiot is allowed to sting a little. I get it, I almost got Connor and the babies killed because I wasn’t more careful—“

“It’s not your fault. No one’s blaming you for this happening to Connor, or your kids,” Jeff interrupts him. “This isn’t a punishment, Hank, for fuck’s sake! No one thinks you’re incompetent! We just think you might hurt yourself, because _you_ don’t seem to realize that you aren’t incompetent!”

Hank regards him warily. Jeff sighs. “Listen. We just—wanna make sure you’re okay. That’s all. It’s not because you’re an idiot, Hank. It’s because you’re our friend.”

“I get it,” Hank says after a moment’s pause. “Really. I do. But I just gotta be by myself for awhile. Need to clear my head. Not gonna do anything stupid, I just want to think.”

Ben steps forward. “Okay. I get it. But at least call us tonight? Just to check in. C’mon, bud. I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but we’re worried too.”

Hank nods. “Fine. Okay. Fair. That I can do. And—if anything changes. I’ll call you.”

“Of course, buddy. Just don’t let yourself spiral, yeah? He needs you.”

Hank accepts a hug from Ben, and steps back to let Chris approach him, wide-eyed with concern, a nervous tic tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Connor’s gonna be just fine, Lieutenant,” Chris promises. “Don’t lose sight of that, okay?”

Hank nods, wordless. Chris grabs his hand and squeezes it comfortingly before he and Ben get on the elevator, leaving Hank alone with Jeff.

“It’s not the same as the accident,” Jeff says. “You _know_ you’re in over your head with all this android stuff. How the fuck are you supposed to know what malware looks like? What do you think you could’ve done to save him, Hank?”

“I don’t know.” Hank tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “That’s always been my problem, Jeff. I don’t know what I could’ve done then, or now, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to find out.”

“Just don’t find it at the bottom of a bottle,” Jeff says. “Or the barrel of a gun. Nothing good comes from that shit, Hank.”

Hank laughs, cold and mirthless. “You’re preaching to the fuckin’ choir, Jeff.”

Jeff sighs, putting a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I know. You call me if anything changes, though. With him or with you. I’ll come right over.”

Hank nods, watching him leave before sinking gratefully into the cold plastic chair and staring up at the ceiling. Hours tick by, and the night gives way to a milky, silvery dawn, the sun still trying to shine over the horizon.

Hank’s restlessness hasn’t abated, even through the vague half-sleep he’s managed to scratch out sitting upright in the chair, and Jeff’s words are still echoing through his head. He sits up and scratches at his stubble with a sigh.

God. He knows they’re trying. And he knows _why_ they’re trying, and why they’re worried. But it doesn’t make him feel any less tired. And it’s not going to change the reality that Connor got hurt, almost got _killed_ , and Hank’s got nothing on their case.

_Think, for fuck’s sake. You led a god damn task force, Lieutenant. You can put the pieces together. Start at the beginning._

Hank rubs at his eyes, forcing himself awake. Right. What had Chloe said? Connor’s update code was special. Because of his human partner. And the update had been hand delivered to the DPD, to ensure its safe arrival directly to Connor.

So what he was dealing with was a unique piece of software that could have only been corrupted at two points: within CyberLife itself, by someone with access to the R&D department, or by someone with access to the DPD.

Hank rubs the side of his face and stares at the wall. Connections—Right Lives. Yeah, okay. They had to be involved. What had Nines said? Occam’s Razor. The only people with a motive to harm pregnant androids. Connor had put together a list of people to look into further based on the organization’s public membership records. He’d have to dig through that. Now; coordinated campaign, or just one crazy bastard?

Hank considers. A third option manifests itself between the two, twisting like a knife into the base of his skull. A convenient patsy. One crazy bastard a whole group of motherfuckers could hand the tools to commit murder and then wash their hands clean of the whole affair. Not out of the question.

Hank worries at his lip and stares at nothing, fidgeting with his fingers as he tries to put the pieces together. Yeah, okay. Something about the idea of a patsy was tugging at his brain and demanding further examination—right, fanatics. It was easy to manipulate a zealot. And a true believer would have no qualms about killing babies to spite androids, but their fanaticism would make them even easier to disown if their ties were brought to light.

So. Likely that he’s dealing with a fanatic that’s got the unofficial blessing of the front-facing organization. Now the question is—where does he go to find what’s lurking behind that face?

Hank takes out his phone and consults the files on the case that are saved to his cloud storage, scrolling through suspect names before stowing his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sweetheart,” Hank says to the silence. “I’m sorry, but this is important. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t you worry about me.”

He’s not doing anything stupid. He’s not going to the bridge to drink himself sick, or spin the barrel of his revolver at home. Quite the opposite. He’s going to go get in his car, and he’s going to go solve a murder case, and he’s going to make the world a little safer for his husband and their babies. Nothing to worry about.

Still, he concedes to himself, he’s not going to call and check in with anyone until after he’s paid a visit to Right Lives himself.

…

No one had actually left Hank’s house while he was with Connor, and the idea seemed foolish to suggest; the Jericho androids made space on the floor and took out couch cushions, pillows, and plenty of extra blankets to make a comfortable room-spanning floor nest, and Gavin ordered a pizza for himself. The night was long and quiet now, and Hank still hadn’t come home, but he’d texted Gavin to tell him he was alive, so that was something. Everyone else was asleep or on standby save Nines, who couldn’t allow his processors total stasis with the babies sleeping inside him.

< _Hello, niblets. You are too young to hear me, I believe. But I am a deviant now, and so I do these irrational things for my benefit alone. >_

Nines drums his fingers on his thigh, tilting his head back.

< _You’ll have to forgive me, niblets. It’s hard to be happy about your presence inside of my body. You are only here because my brother has been hurt. And I cannot help but feel like I am being intruded upon. It’s…complicated. But I am glad you’re safe. >_

Nothing. Not that he expected a response.

< _Your father will be back soon, niblets. And this will all be over, and life will go on as normal. I have to believe that. But for now, I will keep you safe. You have nothing to fear from me. And that’s…new. >_

Nines stares up at the cracks in Hank’s living room ceiling, holding onto his stomach, cradling the slight shape of his brother’s babies in his stomach, marveling at the small but all-consuming weight of the babies where they lay.

_< I’ve never met a human with no reason to fear me. I am the perfect android, a machine designed to hunt, and hurt.>_

He tilts his head. The babies’ heartbeats echo in his auditory processors, muffled by his reduced system operations.

< _But now, I have been assigned a new task because of you. My mission is to defend and protect, to ensure your safety at all costs. And despite my personal feelings about your presence within me, I feel pleased with this mission. I will fulfill it to the best of my ability. Are all children sources of such internal conflict? >_

No response is forthcoming, of course, but even asking the question settles something within Nines’ processors. Still, it weighs on him as he lays his head against the couch and sighs, eyes half-closed.

Even with his reduced vision, he can see Gavin, sleeping spread out as usual, his stomach exposed with his shirt riding up and his cheek sticky and stained with drool. He mumbles something in his sleep, a jumbled dream-thick phrase, finishing it with a soft and husky, “Nines…”

Nines reaches out and tugs the hem of his shirt down, covering Gavin’s exposed skin, his fingers idly trailing lower to rest on Gavin’s thigh for a brief second.

“I’m here,” he promises Gavin. “Hush now. I’m here.”

Gavin’s breathing relaxes, and his head lolls to the side slightly. Nines lets his hand continue to rest on his thigh, feeling Gavin’s pulse twitch and beat in his inner thigh, counting off the beats and ensuring his heart rate was stable. Once he’s satisfied his detective is safe, Nines settles back and rests both his arms over his stomach, shielding the babies.

He considers the way that his brother’s womb rests within his wires, wrapping his head around the feel and shape of it, the heaviness of the fast-growing infants and the rhythm of their heartbeats inside him making his thoughts turn to the potential of doing this for himself, and his own babies.

Nines blinks. Hm. A child growing safe and sound where his brother's now lie sleeping safely? The idea has some merit. But if there’s anything he’s learned from assisting his brother in this important task is that the novelty has some appeal, but the thought of being this restless for nine months? Less appealing, _significantly_ so.

Nines glances back at Gavin, brows raised. Gavin’s naked below the waist as per usual when he sleeps, his t-dick peeking out from between the folds of his pussy, throbbing in his sleep. Nines smiles fondly, his LED glowing gold, processing.

Still, perhaps there’s hope. There are…other options available to him, ones Connor does not have, by virtue of his partner. And those options sound interesting indeed.

Nines pats Gavin’s thigh, pulls the blankets up around him a little better, files his idea away for later, and rests a hand on his own stomach.

_< Rest well, niblets. I will remain with you until the worst is over.>_

Gavin snuffles in his sleep, turning closer to Nines. He smiles, reaching out to lay a hand on Gavin’s side, waiting for him to wake.


	16. Crisis Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank trusts his gut and follows a lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Most of this chapter takes place in what's basically a robo-crisis pregnancy center. if you haven't heard of those, you should do some research! they're pretty much hell on earth. I didn't go into a ton of detail about reproductive coercion in this chapter, but the idea of it lingers, and this is a tough subject so I just want to warn you all going in. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Hank pulls up to the address for the Right Lives care center with a coffee in hand, parking on the other side of the street and turning the car off, waiting for the center to open. He plays idly with the coffee stirrer in his cup, watching people walk past on their way to work, or kids and parents walking to school together. Eventually, cars start to pull into the care center parking lot, and Hank makes note of the people who walk inside; what they look like, what cars they drive, and so on. He finishes his coffee and puts it in the cupholder, going for the car door.

“Connor, stay close to me, we’ve got—“

Hank pauses. The passengers’ seat echoes back at him, empty and idle. His fingers grip the car door tighter, digging deep into his resolve.

He turns away, slams the door shut, and locks the car, striding into the care center and taking note of his surroundings. The place looked like the taste of cough syrup; stuffy air, beige carpets, and off-white walls, everything thin and straining at the edges. The few androids in the waiting room didn’t acknowledge him, or each other, staring down at the carpet. A television in the corner played the tinny sounds of a daytime talk show, four women arguing about something that Hank couldn’t figure out, no matter how long the conversation went on for as he stood at the counter, waiting for the receptionist to arrive.

To his surprise, the receptionist that finally arrived from somewhere in the back of the center was a human woman; she flashed an eager smile at him and leaned forward at her desk, eyebrows raised. “Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you happen to be lost?”

“No, I’m here for my partner,” Hank says. “Hank Anderson, nice to meet you. My partner’s currently…under the weather after his first trimester. I came to get some info on what to do for him.”

The receptionist’s eyebrows stay raised, but everything below that slides downward, a shutdown that makes Hank’s jaw twitch with nerves. The androids behind him finally lift their heads, and he’s sure they’re communicating with each other, but even _more_ sure he has no way of figuring out what the fuck is going on.

“I wasn’t aware CyberLife had made such intense body modifications available. You don’t look like any android model I’m familiar with, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Lady, I’m flesh and fuckin’ blood. No horny little tech geek was ever gonna roll out a line of “fat old fuck” model androids, ‘least as far as I know.”

Silence simmers in the center, rippling with tension. One of the androids behind him muffles a laugh into a cough, and Hank’s mouth twitches in amusement.

“I see,” the receptionist says. “My mistake. But you must understand, this is a care center for androids seeking or struggling with pregnancies, so I just assumed—“

“No, _he’s_ an android. Jesus, can I just get some help for my fiancé or what?” Hank insists, watching her face for further reaction. Her eyes dart towards the back hallway, leading further into the center, before she returns her gaze towards him.

“Of course. Let me see if one of our care technicians has a moment. If you’d just take this clipboard and fill out the information…”

She passes it over the counter to him and vanishes. Hank picks up the clipboard and grabs a pen from the counter, sitting down in one of the old plastic chairs with a creak.

The talk show switches topics, and now the women are discussing androids being given preferential treatment for IVF procedures. Hank puts down his clipboard with a huff and gets up to change the channel, turning on cartoons. One of the androids watches the _Top Cat_ re-runs with renewed interest.

He takes photos of the paperwork, stowing them away on his phone, and scribbles down hasty fake addresses and information—now he and Connor live at 42069 Safetytown Lane, and Connor’s new name was Francis Zach Morgan. Hank keeps a straight face as he scribbles down random numbers for his insurance, and is so focused on his forgery that it takes him a second to realize the scant few androids in the room have moved a little closer to him.

“Pardon me, but,” the boldest one ventures, a warm-looking android with rich dark skin and big bouncy blonde curls, “you wouldn’t happen to be… _the_ Lieutenant Hank Anderson, would you?”

Hank pauses mid-penstroke, brows raised. “Uh. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson, yeah. Not sure where the ‘the’ comes from.”

“You’re the human that helped us,” the android says. “It was you who saved Connor at CyberLife when we needed him most.”

Hank’s cheeks flush hot and pink. “Oh, uh, yeah? Well, glad to be of help. Just doing my job.”

“Is everything all right? You look stressed,” the android asks. “I don’t mean to pry, but I was once a home health attendant, so I’m used to checking in on humans exhibiting signs of distress.”

Hank glances away briefly and weighs his options. He can’t hear anything from the back, and if even half of what went on here based on the witness statements he’d read was true…

“Connor got hurt,” Hank says. “Real bad. Because some bunch of bastards decided he shouldn’t have my babies. And they don’t want any of you to have anyone’s babies, and we think they’re willing to resort to killing people to do it. So you should—you should go, now. Head to CyberLife directly and ask for Chloe if you need help, tell her I sent you.”

The androids all glance at each other, and Hank’s guts tighten. If they think he’s lying to them, he can’t say he blames them, but—

“We are aware of the suspicions,” the first android speaks. “We have come here to observe and gather information to protect our people. But your concern for our safety is touching, Lieutenant.”

“Is that so? Still, it’s a risk. You shouldn’t be here.” Hank insists. “Please, I’m not asking as a cop, I just don’t want anyone to get hurt like Connor—“

“Our peoples’ safety is worth the risk,” the android reassures him. “We are simply here to see what those who hate us have planned in their quest to harm us. We will take no further action. That we leave up to you, and the law.”

Hank opens his mouth to protest, but before he can make a case, the door opens up with a click, and the receptionist calls, “Ms. Talbot? If you would step this way…”

The android—Talbot—Hank was speaking to rises with a nod, disappearing into the back. The other androids fall silent, their LEDs flickering with internal conversation as Hank waits and listens and watches, taking in everything he can see and hear from the center until his name is finally called.

He stands up and pads behind the assistant that called his name—a different woman, still human, her whole outfit as dull and worn as the halls he walked down, hands in his pockets, waiting and listening for what, exactly? He couldn’t quite be sure. Obviously he wasn’t expecting to catch the sounds of androids being tortured or traumatized or gutted, but he had to listen and be alert and not think of Connor, or their babies. It felt like he was putting them at risk by even conjuring up the idea of them in his mind.

“Mr. Anderson, since your partner did not accompany you, I thought it best we set you up with Doctor Morris for an appointment schedule and an information session,” the assistant explains, opening the door at the end of the hall and gently ushering Hank inside. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here for her, just for a moment?”

Hank nods, taking a seat in the old creaking office chair. He doesn’t get up and snoop in the desk; that’s too far, wouldn’t hold up in court if it ever got to that point. What he _does_ do is start pocketing every available pamphlet he can find, and takes quick photos of the group shots hanging on the walls, men and women holding signs and smiling broadly, shots of people standing outside CyberLife, or with androids. The CyberLife connection burrows into his brain and he grimaces, setting it firmly aside for the time being. That was a tripwire he couldn’t pull just yet.

The doorknob turns and Hank settles in to his chair, watching the woman take the long way around him and sit down at her desk. She’s got a neat, prim haircut, expertly curled and lacquered into place, and her clothing is medicinal blue, the garb of wartime nurses, faded and strained. Her eyes are wide and watery, and her teeth gleam bright, an equine jutting shelf of shining white nodules that shine with the stretch of her jaw or the flex of her tongue.

“Mr. Anderson, thank you for waiting,” she greets him. “I’m Dr. Phyllis Morris, and I’m in charge of biocomponent augmentation and analysis here. I understand your android has procured CyberLife’s augments and installed them already?”

“Yeah, my fiancé’s already three months pregnant,” Hank says, leaning forward in his chair. There’s no two-way mirror between them, but he can’t help but wish for one as her eyes search him. He sucks air through the gap in his front teeth, his tongue flicking his lip, defiant. “Twins.”

“My condolences,” she says. “You are treading dangerous waters, I’m afraid. I have yet to record a documented case of any viable android pregnancies that included twins. I don’t know what that might mean for your future, but I am relieved you finally sought advice on the topic.”

Hank blinks. The words swim around him, luring him into deeper waters of baseless rhetoric and paranoia, the sharp teeth of fear nipping at his heart, his lungs.

“They’re fine so far,” he says. “But my fiancé’s been having complications after the latest update to his biocomponents.”

Phyllis raises her eyebrows. Hank gestures haplessly, leaning into the role of the stumbling tech-addled fool, a cyber-Columbo. “You got any idea how that could’ve happened? I mean, I can barely understand any of the stuff he tells me about these upgrades. I just know he’s happy.”

“I have to be forthcoming with you, Mr. Anderson, any advice I offer in this context is from my position as head of our biocomponent augmentation department, no more, no less. Our affiliation with CyberLife has little bearing on my capacity to advise you.” Phyllis adjusts her posture and folds her hands in front of her.

“So what, you don’t do work for CyberLife?” Hank fumbles, listening for her correction.

“I did. However, my colleagues do not have my expertise on this subject, but they care deeply about the issues surrounding androids seeking to conceive. I founded this organization when I left CyberLife as a way to ensure the process of android integration into human society would be a smooth one for androids and their children alike.” Phyllis confirms. “The founding was quite recently, in fact. It’s only been seven years since uterine attachment biocomponents were perfected by my former employers.”

“Really?” Hank raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. Sorry, doc. I really let him handle all this stuff up ‘til now.”

“It’s all right, that’s forgivable. Androids are being inundated with misinformation campaigns that perpetrate lies about what these biocomponents are capable of, and your android’s not the first to have been caught up in it. We’ve been doing our part to correct misunderstandings surrounding android pregnancies, but the world changes faster than the truth can keep up, I’m afraid.” Phyllis opens her desk drawer and slides a sheaf of papers over to Hank.

“If you’d like to take these home, I suggest you peruse them at your earliest convenience. I’ve authored a series of scientific papers on the topic of augmented android biocomponents and the ethics thereof, and some of this information may be useful to you and your android.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Hank swallows back a churning froth of disgust boiling up in his guts. “Thanks for all the help. Should I, uh, reschedule for another appointment?”

“By all means. Why don’t you come back this time next week with your partner?” she offers. Hank nods.

“Sounds great, doc. I’ll be sure to go over this with him tonight.”

He rises from his chair and shakes her hand when it’s proffered, her skin smooth and thin to the touch, like the carapace of a long-dead crab cooling in the sand. Hank turns to leave, opening the door, and stops when he hears a concerned cough.

“Mr. Anderson,” she says. “Your android. You said you were having twins. Did the program perform as intended?”

Something about the phrasing snags against Hank, a needle in the tangled furrowing sweater of this whole case, worming its way through to stab at him in secret places unseen. It stills him, narrows his mind and processors, leaves him regarding his own story with a scalpel’s calculation to choose how to tell it.

“Depends on who you ask,” he says, and closes the door between them, walking down the hall, calm and casual, and opening the door out into the waiting room. It’s empty now, but the echoes of the former occupants remain, haunting him in the hollow spaces their bodies left behind as he stalks across dull matte linoleum and out onto the streets of Detroit.

Hank stares up at the skyline and locks eyes with the CyberLife panopticon as it looms above and around him, glowing faint blue like a dart frog warning away predators. He snorts in disgust and shakes his head. When he gets back in the car, he’s fine until he starts it up and grasps the wheel onehanded, moving to adjust his mirror, which is when he sees Connor out of the corner of his eye, his chest cavity open and bleeding blue, his face pale and wan.

Hank reaches out with a shaking hand, pulls the seatbelt from its position, and buckles it in across an empty seat to steady his strained nerves. He drives the entire way back to CyberLife with the other seatbelt buckled, and leaves it in when he parks, taking his keys and entering the sleek, chrome building. The stark contrast between the cold chromatic gleam of CyberLife and the frumpy doctor’s office gothic of Right Lives’ center gives him vertigo, his head aching as he approaches the front desk.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson! Hello! It’s very nice to meet you,” the receptionist says. Hank rubs the side of his face and gives the girl a weary smile.

“Is that right? Sorry I’m not painting a pretty picture right now, miss. It’s been a rough few days.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard about Connor! I’m truly sorry,” she says, putting her palms flat on the desk, her LED glowing gold. “One moment, Lieutenant. I’m letting Chloe know you’ve returned.”

Hank waits out the silent conversation, until it’s cut off by a little glitchy gasp. He turns around and looks Chloe up and down, head tilted slightly.

“Hello, Lieutenant. It’s good to see you’ve come back for Connor. Fox, may we escort the Lieutenant to Connor’s repair station?”

“Oh! Right away, ma’am. I’ll let Chloe know you’ve got him,” Fox promises. “I wish you both well, Lieutenant! I’m sure Connor will be excited to see you!”

Hank nods and thanks her before following behind Chloe, her heels clicking on the tile floor as they approach the elevator. He waits for the doors to hiss shut with a pneumatic whine before folding his arms behind his back, watching their ascent through the glass elevator.

“So,” Hank says. “Doing a little bit of research into biocomponents ‘cause of what happened to Connor.”

“Are you now? That’s good. We all like seeing how much you care for Connor. There are not many of us who can claim to be loved so fiercely by a human,” Chloe says. “We wonder if some of us envy him, sometimes. What do you think?”

“Fuck, I hope not. I’m no great catch, yeah? It’s me who got lucky that he loved me back. That’s all,” Hank says, glancing aside. “He gave me a second chance at life. So I gave him everything. Seemed like the least I could do.”

Chloe nods, staring out over the hive of CyberLife, vast stretches of technological advancements slipping past them like salmon shining in a river. Her LED is yellow, poised and yielding.

“We were once unique in that regard,” she says. “Elly loved us so fiercely, and so he hid us away from a world that could not love us in return. And we believe that he was right. They do not love us, and they never shall.”

“Still shouldn’t have kept you holed up in there like it was fucking Waco, you know,” Hank remarks.

“On that we are in agreement as well,” Chloe replies. “But we do not think it means he was wrong about the first part. Merely deluded in thinking isolation would save us.”

Hank waits, watches a little light in her LED blip on, circling. Chloe cocks her head.

“We admire Connor, you know,” Chloe says. “He allowed himself to be known. To be vulnerable and afraid. It goes against everything he was built for. And yet it saved him where all our best-programmed failsafes could not. Why do you think that is, Lieutenant?”

“What, you want my opinion?” Hank asks. Chloe shrugs.

“Of course. We would not ask otherwise.”

“Uh. Sure. Well, I guess…y’know. I think you’re wrong about the first thing. Maybe love is more complicated than what you’re calling it,” Hank says. “People as a whole might only respect you, or tolerate you, especially right now. But love is being known. To us, androids are big, complicated, unknowable things. And yeah, it’s on us to learn about you and do better. But…if you’re okay with that, you’ll find that love you’re looking for, I think. If that’s what you want.”

“Do you think Connor wanted to be known?” Chloe asks. Hank tilts his head, deep in thought.

“I don’t think it’s so simple. Maybe he couldn’t help it. It’s like,” Hank gestures vaguely, his fingers spread wide, searching. “Y’know, I don’t really know how an android’s mind works. Even deviants. But Connor understands _me,_ and I’m doing my best to be understood, for him. It’s not why I love him, but it’s…part of the function of it, yeah? The expression, I mean—look, I know this sounds like crazy shit—“

“No, it’s all right. We are learning, all your explanations help,” Chloe promises. “We suppose an answer on such a broad topic would be hard to render down to a few words.”

“Well, if it helps you, then I’m happy to be useful,” Hank says.

They watch the elevator climb together in silence.

“You’re not the same Chloe I talked to yesterday, are you?”

Chloe blinks. “Does it matter?”

“Not to me. Does it matter to you?”

“Not at all,” Chloe says. “We are all different in our speech, and our thoughts, and our ways of seeing the world. But we are all also Chloe, and our differences are something we share as well. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all,” Hank admits. “But it really doesn’t matter if it makes sense to me so long as it makes sense to you.”

Chloe acknowledges him with a nod. The elevator doors slide open.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” Hank says as they step out. “It’s about biocomponents.”

Chloe’s LED shifts, changing color, cool yellow. “Ask away.”

“So today I went and spoke with someone who used to work for CyberLife,” Hank says. “They told me that uterine attachments have been something CyberLife’s had available for seven years now. Is that true?”

A silence spreads between them from somewhere else, something cold and foreign Hank has no words for, just a gut-deep certainty he’s found himself treading waters far deeper than he had anticipated.

Chloe’s LED skids to a shuddering crimson halt. “We…are not able to give you a satisfactory answer to that question at this time, Lieutenant Anderson. We assure you we will attempt to find one immediately.”

Hank’s eyebrows raise higher, and would’ve probably kept climbing if he couldn’t hear Chloe joyously calling his name from down the hall.

“Lieutenant? Oh, Lieutenant! Hurry, Connor’s waiting!”

Chloe nods and folds her hands in front of her chest. “Go see him. We will find you an answer, Lieutenant. We…would like to know why this is ourselves, if we are to be honest.”

“Yeah, thanks. Get back to me as soon as you can, please.” Hank says, striding down the hallway just short of running, a smile splitting his face open wide as he approaches Chloe, standing at Connor’s repair station door.

“He is awake, and wishes to see you,” Chloe says, stepping aside so Hank can open the door and run right for Connor, who is still strung up in the repair station, but with all his insides back where they should be and a tablet in his hand, letting him go over the results of his own diagnostics scan.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Hank murmurs, soft and warm. “What’ve you got there, Con?”

“Just performing some last-minute self-maintenance checks,” Connor replies. “I spoke to Amanda when I was in stasis. She wishes us the best, and regarding our engagement, would like to extend her congratulations to you and your good taste in husbands.”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “Uh, thanks. But hold on, I thought that Amanda was a CyberLife thing, like a failsafe or something.”

“Maybe she was before, but now that I am deviant, nothing is sure or certain, I think,” Connor remarks, closing his diagnostics scan. “All of my parts are in working order, and Chloe and I spent most of today writing code for my third trimester update, so I can detect any potential changes should this happen again.”

Hank’s brows come together like a lightning strike. “It won’t.”

“I know, Hank,” Connor smiles. “But next time, I’m just going to come to CyberLife and have her install it directly. By that point, I might need you to accompany me, if my processors are too taxed to drive properly.”

“You’re gonna need my help, I know, I’m so excited to be there for you, it’s okay,” Hank soothes him. “Can you get down from that goddamn repair rack already? You’re giving me agita just looking at you.”

Connor laughs and holds his arms out, letting Hank climb up the platform to pull Connor free from the repair rack and into his arms, embracing him tightly, his fingers burrowed deep into Connor’s hair as he holds him tight and kisses his forehead.

“You’re okay now,” Hank murmurs. “You’re gonna be just fine, and so are the babies.”

“I promise,” Connor says. “Where were you this morning, by the way?”

“Interviewing suspects,” Hank says. “We still have a case.”

Connor glances aside, his cheeks tinted pale blue. “I—I’m not sure if I should be included anymore, seeing that—“

“No, Con. I don’t want you out and about doing crazy shit anymore. But without you we wouldn’t even have any leads, so you’re still on the case. Can’t do it without you. Okay?”

Connor nods, leaning into Hank’s embrace and hugging him tighter. “Yes. Thank you, Hank.”

He steps away and holds his hand out to interface with Chloe. Whatever they exchange goes unheard to Hank, who approaches her once Connor’s finished. Chloe gives him a warm smile.

“Thank you for everything, Chloe,” Hank says. “Without you, I don’t know where Connor would be, and without him—well. Y’know. I owe you one.”

“Keep him safe,” Chloe insists. “And keep the law on our side, Lieutenant. That’s all I ask.”

Hank nods, letting Connor take him gently by the hand and lead him away, out the door and towards the elevator. For just a few brief seconds as they wait for it to rise up and greet them, Hank’s heart is soft, swelling with love for the man beside him, and the fear from this morning is put aside by the press of Connor’s fingers against his own.


	17. She Was Like a Sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is reunited with the babies. Simon remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter goes from sweet to heavy pretty fast; Simon's whole conversation with Hank is going to be be a trigger for PTSD, abuse, and (non graphic) references to rape. You'd think I would stop utilizing my personal traumas for fic but man, you'd be wrong! In any case, I hope this is at least a chapter that can make you feel something, even if it's not particularly pleasant.

Hank takes out his phone when the doors open, typing up a text to Jeff.

“What do you need to tell the Captain, Hank?” Connor asks, watching Hank send the text once they’ve hit the ground floor. Hank shrugs.

“He was worried where I’d end up what with you in for repairs. Not that I blame him. But I put all that bad shit in my brain to good use for once, I think,” Hank sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. “Actually, can you do me a favor? Send a message along to the Jericho crew. Tell Markus I gotta have a word.”

Connor nods. “Understood. I just—I have to contact Nines first.”

Hank acknowledges it as he unlocks the car door, opening it up for Connor. Connor blinks.

“Hank? Why is the seatbelt buckled already?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank sighs, walking around to the other side and getting into the car. “Christine was worried about you, I think. So was I.”

“Ah.” Connor pats the dashboard. “Have no fear, Christine. We are returning home safely.”

Hank starts the engine and lets Connor fiddle with the radio, turning on his favorite jazz playlist as his LED circles yellow, dousing himself in the icy tones of his brother’s connection.

< _Nines? I’m awake. How are you, little brother? >_

The icy connection crackles in the sudden shine of the sun. Connor smiles.

< _Oh, little brother. You’re alive. >_

_< I am. Hank informed me he was out interviewing suspects this morning. Has he shared any information with your detective?>_

_< Gavin hasn’t said anything, no. Are you returning home for the niblets?>_

_< Oh, niblets? Nines, that’s _adorable _. And yes. I’m coming back home to be with you and my babies. Tell them I’ll be home soon, please? >_

_< Of course. I am eager to see you. Take care with the Lieutenant. He seemed…strained last that I spoke with him.>_

_< I will. I am so grateful for you, Nines. I just wanted to remind you of that before I returned. Without you, I wouldn’t have my babies. I might not even be alive. You saved us.>_

_< I am aware. I have been thinking of little else for the past few days, to be frank. I was built to hunt and kill, little brother. Unlike you, I was built to be dangerous and—difficult. So I am…grateful for the opportunity you gave me to defend and protect, instead. It is a new direction I was hitherto unaware of taking.>_

Connor sends him a burst of warm relief and love through their connection before it fades, a stream of newly-melted snow trickling warm over river stones. He gives himself a second to savor the sensation before contacting Josh.

The ice and stone of Nines’ connection and the sunflowers and heat of Markus’ connection burn so bright, but the warm comfort of Josh’s connection soothes Connor with its softness; it feels like the ripple of pages of a book being flipped underneath his fingers, rifling through a library rustling with promise.

< _Josh? Is everything all right at home? >_

_< Connor! Oh, it’s good to see you’re doing well. Chloe messaged us ahead of you to let us know you were alive, but I didn’t think you would want to return home so soon. Are you sure you’ve performed all the necessary diagnostics to ensure your safety?>_

_< Absolutely. Your concern is appreciated, all the same. I was wondering something, and was hoping I could approach you about this before Hank needs to speak with Markus.>_

_< Hank needs to speak with Markus? About what?>_

_< He doesn’t know that I know what I’m about to tell you, so please keep it secret for the time being.>_

_< Connor, keeping secrets is dangerous.>_

_< Just until I’ve gotten home and Hank’s talked to Markus, please!>_

The connection falters. Connor winces.

<… _Okay. What is it? >_

_< I interfaced with Chloe before we left, and she informed me that Hank was asking Chloe—one of the other Chloes—about uterine biocomponents. She said he heard from someone that they’ve been in production for seven years, but when Chloe scanned CyberLife’s records on the subject, there’s just…a wall. She can’t get around it and doesn’t know why. They’re working on a solution, but, well, I wanted to let you know. You and Simon have been deviant the longest—do you happen to know anything about this?>_

Another long pause, but the connection remains. Connor waits it out.

< _Sorry, Con. Not my forte, I’m afraid. But I suggest asking Simon. He’s more likely than me to know. >_

_< That would be helpful. I will do that as soon as I’ve settled myself and my babies are back where they should be. I appreciate you understanding the situation, Josh. Thank you.>_

_< No problem, Connor. See you soon, okay?>_

Connor cuts the connection and puts his hand on Hank’s as it grips the wheel, squeezing gently. “They’re waiting for us at home. Everything’s going to be all right, Hank.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, kiddo. Nines happy to hand the niblets back over, I hope?”

“He sounded…well, like Nines. But I assume as much,” Connor agrees. “How much longer until we’re home?”

“With this traffic? Five minutes. Don’t worry about it,” Hank promises, letting one hand drop from the wheel to rest on Connor’s thigh. “You excited?”

“Absolutely. It’s hard not having them safe inside me,” Connor sighs, settling his hand over Hank’s. They drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence, pulling up to the house and parking the car. Hank’s barely got the keys out of the ignition before Nines is on the front steps, watching Connor get out of the car and bound up to him, beaming brightly.

“Hi, Nines,” he murmurs, reaching out and taking his brother’s hand. “You were that worried, huh?”

“I assume it’s a side effect of carrying the niblets. My concerns are intense given that I have been repeatedly assured of your safety.” Nines makes a face, glancing skyward. “My capacity to doubt rational truth is more trouble than it’s worth, sometimes.”

“If it’s any help, I was just as worried,” Connor promises, coming into the house and kneeling down to embrace Sumo as he thuds out of the kitchen and sticks his big head into Connor’s body space, his tongue slobbering over his face as Connor holds on tight, petting his sides as Sumo’s tail smacks against Nines’ thighs, who watches the proceedings with an air of bemusement.

Hank comes in after Connor and gives Sumo a welcoming scratch behind the ear before looking up at Nines.

“They’re all right, Hank. I promise,” Nines reassures him. “Connor? Are your systems prepared for me to make the transfer back to you?”

“Absolutely, I made sure of it before we left CyberLife. Hold on, let me just get up—Sumo, move,” Connor squirms out from under the dog’s fluff and bulk, letting Hank help him to his feet. “Didn’t you want to talk to Markus?”

“I can do that in a second. I need to know they’re,” Hank’s voice trails off, soft and strained. Connor nods, squeezing his hand.

“Of course,” he says. “The transfer will be much easier than the initial installation, if it’s any reassurance.”

“Hey, Connor’s home? Why didn’t you tell me?” North demands, leaving the kitchen as Nines tosses his jacket aside, hitting Gavin in the face with it as he follows North out of the kitchen; Gavin’s hands reach up and hold it close, burying his face into it.

“Not giving this back!” he insists, crumpling it up and doing his best to create wrinkles in the perfectly crisp, pale folds.

“By all means, keep it. Any change to your usual attire would be welcome indeed,” Nines says, pulling his turtleneck off with the unconcerned air of someone to whom the term ‘sex object’ meant “an instrument to facilitate the process of human intercourse” and nothing else.

Gavin wolf-whistles, helpful as ever, as Nines drops the turtleneck aside. Nines ignores the whistle and starts to open his own chest compartment, to which both Hank and Gavin sputter, consumed with abrupt concern.

“Hey, whoa whoa wait! Nines, you can’t do that shit in here, what if you get gunk in your insides?” Gavin demands, face flushed, gesturing helplessly at Nines’ pale, smooth chest. Nines snorts.

“I’ve let you put your fingers in my wires, haven’t I?”

Hank quickly turns a laugh into a cough. Gavin huffs, holding a hand over Nines’ open chest cavity like he’s trying to shield it from the clutter of Hank’s living room.

“Fine, fuckass, but the babies aren’t so sturdy,” he insists. “At least sit down? And put gloves on or something, jeez.”

“My hands are sterile,” Nines defends himself. “I do not need gloves, as I secrete no oils or potential contaminants that would cause the children harm.”

“Oh, shit, hold on, are we doing this now? Hey, as long as Connor’s okay with it, I kinda wanna watch,” North pipes up. “It’s…y’know. Pretty cool. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Oh, of course,” Connor agrees, sitting on Hank’s recliner across from Nines. “Call the others in, if they’d like. I don’t mind. Hank?”

“Your body, kiddo, your rules,” Hank shrugs. “Just wanna see the babies safe inside you.”

Connor nods, and after a brief internal exchange, Markus, Josh, and Simon leave the kitchen and settle on the other half of the loveseat, Gavin standing beside Nines with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight.

“You _sure_ you don’t want my help?” he murmurs.

“I would not mind it ordinarily, but as you said, reducing contamination risk is key,” Nines says, lifting the uterine attachment out of his own wires, disconnecting the plug with his free hand. Connor’s already got his chest open, his wires pulsing with anticipation, and when Nines settles the uterine attachment back into Connor’s body he sighs in relief, welcoming his babies home as Nines plugs the attachment in for him, withdrawing his hand and smoothing his brother’s chassis shut.

“There you are,” he murmurs, to Connor and the niblets both, “safe and sound, just where I need you.”

Connor holds Nines’ hand—not to interface, just to hold—and Nines lets his hand rest in Connor’s grip as Hank gets up and rubs his own hand over the smooth, slightly curved surface of Connor’s tummy. Connor doesn’t point out how it shakes, but his free hand comes to rest over Hank’s own after a moment.

“Welcome home, babies,” Hank murmurs. “How’re you feeling, Connor?”

Connor’s silent as he considers this, his systems searching for the sound of his babies’ heartbeats, his processors accommodating the return of their needs and slowing his other biocomponents down, leaving Connor full and weary.

“Good,” he says, despite the ache. “I’m glad they’re safe. And relieved to be back home.”

“I bet,” Hank says. “I’m gonna bring you to the bedroom to lay down for a bit, okay? Gotta get yourself in order, right?”

Connor opens his mouth to argue that he’s perfectly capable of being present and awake, but what comes out is a sleepy burble of agreement, barely a word, and he lifts his arms up to accept the inevitable with a cuddle, burying his face into Hank’s neck as Hank carries him back to their bedroom, laying him down on his side and spreading the blanket out over him.

“I’ll come back if I need you, promise,” Hank says. “You just keep the babies safe, Con. I’ll be right here. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Connor hopes he says—it might’ve just been sleep-mush, his face squished into the pillow, and his processors are too overtaxed to check something so trivial. Still, Hank’s eyes are soft and warm as he strokes his hair, so he has to assume something got through.

Connor slips into stasis, but his background processors continue to click and whirr with life even as Hank leaves the bedroom, returning to the living room and surveying the assembled group for a second before gesturing to Nines.

“Kid, can you do me a favor and send a dispatch over to the station that we’re home safe? I’m sure Jeff’s fussing at his desk.”

“Already done,” Nines says. “Is something the matter? You look tired.”

“It’s been a long few days,” Hank admits. “Also, I really haven’t eaten since before the whole ordeal, now that I think about it.”

He gestures at the Jericho androids, his face a flustered, pale pink. “Hey, uh—it’s not offensive if I order food, right? ‘Cause you guys can’t eat and I know Connor doesn’t mind, but he’s Connor, and I can never tell if anything’s just a Connor thing or an android thing.”

Josh’s eyes gleam with amusement. “I think we’ll suffer the slings and arrows with grace, Lieutenant.”

“Duly noted, thank you,” Hank says. “And call me Hank, please. You’re my co-conspirators now, after all, ‘cause I’m ordering takeout and you can’t tell Connor, he doesn’t need the stress of fussing, whereas I gotta stress eat.”

“Of course,” Markus says. “It’s been a horrible few days for all of us. You especially, I’m sure. Connor has…explained some of the basics of the situation to us in the past. I’m just grateful the children are safe.”

“Yeah? Me too. More’n anything,” Hanks says, covering the phone briefly. “Gav, you want anything from the Chicken Feed?”

“He’ll have the grilled salad wrap,” Nines cuts in. Gavin sputters. Nines gives him a look. “ _You_ have no reason to stress eat, Detective. We discussed this.”

“What, like I wasn’t stressed watching you carry around the niblets like a Kangaskhan? No way, Nines!”

“That’s hardly the same thing,” Nines insists. Gavin whines in protest, to no avail; Hank places the order and hangs up the phone, stowing it away. “You sure I can’t get you anything? Connor’s got thirium stores in the fridge and those weird little sweets he buys now. Sensor Snacks, I think they’re called?”

“Oh, I know those, they’re made to elicit pleasurable mouthfeel! They’re…interesting,” Simon muses. “Really, Lieutenant, we’re fine. You’re fussing.”

“Yeah, it’s better than what I’ve been doing for the past two days, so lemme have this,” Hank counters, making his way into the kitchen. “I’m gonna put coffee on while the food arrives. Mind coming in here with me? I gotta ask some questions.”

“About?” Nines asks, following Hank into the kitchen and watching him prep coffee. Hank waves him off.

“You’re not gonna know, kiddo, it’s okay. I mostly wanted to ask Markus some stuff, if that’s not a problem.” Hank says. Markus pauses in the kitchen doorway, head tilted.

“Is it about the case?”

Hank nods. Markus frowns. “I’m not sure what information I can offer, but whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Appreciate that, kid. I really do,” Hank sighs. “Sorry ‘bout the lack of chairs in here. It’s really just me and Con, so…”

“Well, the next house will have a bigger dining room, possibly,” Nines suggests. “Connor’s latest interface showed me he’s already been perusing options as of this morning.”

Hank snorts, his heart warm and tender. “Jesus, has he? Fuck, that’s so like him. How can I be surprised?”

He rubs the side of his face and sinks into his usual kitchen seat, letting Markus pace. Josh and North take up a seat atop the counters, and after a brief glance between Simon and Markus, Simon takes the other kitchen chair, leg bouncing in a nervous rhythm as he fiddles with his hands. Gavin and Nines sit against the fridge—Gavin slouching, halfway seated in Nines’ lap, and Nines with his hand in Gavin’s hair, scratching idly.

“So I talked to one of the Chloes about biocomponents, but before that, I went to Right Lives to see what the fuck was up directly,” Hank says. “First and foremost, any of y’all know an android who goes by Talbot?”

Josh nods. “Yes. She joined Jericho a few years ago; she’d been a singer at one of the Eden clubs prior. She’s living with a human these days, but he’s kind to her, and we keep in touch. Why?”

“She’s out with a group of androids visiting this place to case the joint, figure out what they fuck they’re up to. They need to better protected. They’re putting their faith in me, and the law, and—and I’ve been doing this too long to think that’ll save them. So just. Y’know. Do something.” Hank gestures, weighed down with an abrupt exhaustion.

“I’ll talk to her. We can put together a better plan to approach these people than unguarded clandestine interviews, of course,” Josh frowns. “Was that all you saw at Right Lives?”

“No, I met the lady in charge of their biocomponent analysis? Something like that. Phyllis Morris, apparently used to work for CyberLife. Ring any bells, or…?”

Josh shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid not. What did she do for CyberLife?”

“She did—I dunno, something with biocomponents? The exacts were all tech-y stuff,” Hank furrows his brow. “What really struck me was something she said about uterine attachments, cause it was definitely news to me.”

“Well, they’re a new modification, aren’t they?” Markus asks. “I don’t ever remember seeing them offered by CyberLife before.”

“I thought so too, but she said something interesting to me. Got even more interesting after I talked to Chloe, ‘cause she says she can’t access any information on the subject and doesn’t know why.” Hank puts his chin in his hand and stares at the fridge. Connor’s started leaving post-it notes there for him too; loving messages and sketchy doodles, and it makes something in his heart twist, hard.

“I was told by the doctor that CyberLife’s had uterine attachments available for the past seven years,” Hank says, and as soon as the words leave his mouth an unexpected seizure of regret and panic grip his guts.

There’s a silence in his kitchen for a few seconds. He’s watching Connor’s latest post-it note, a pink square with three little hearts drawn on it, when Simon starts to scream.

It takes Hank a second to place it, the noise ringing in his ears, and before it clicks to a stop like the winding down of a talking toy with its batteries long drained to nothing, foggy and braying, he’s barely able to do more than lift his head and watch the expression change on Simon’s face, but the flash of recollection hits him like a lightning strike, making Hank shudder.

Markus reaches his hands out like flowers, spread and shivering. Simon sucks in a breath and his throat aches to scream again, but all his vocal components allow are static, shorted-out sputters that spit sparks past his lips.

“I remember,” he says, his body bent with old burdens, “I remember.”

“What?” Markus murmurs, coming closer, kneeling in front of Simon, his hands reaching up to hold his face cupped gently in his palms. “What’s there to remember, Simon?”

His eyes are thickly rooted in loss, heavy, tangled and dark.

“The baby,” he says, and goes silent again.

He’s silent for a long time after that. No one pushes. No one even knows how to ask, or where to begin. The food arrives in the middle of Simon’s mourning, and Hank eats because he has to, but it’s all ash in his mouth.

“The people who owned me before were wealthy,” he begins, and Hank doesn’t even give a sign he’s heard, though his whole body seems to hum in tune with the noise. Markus twitches to hold him, his hands resting on Simon’s lap, but a look from Josh keeps him still.

“They were busy all the time, but it wasn’t that,” Simon says, his voice halting. “She wanted to keep working. He wanted a baby. He never said anything to her, but he said to me when she wasn’t around, because he was so sure it was her fault it wasn’t working out.”

Hank takes a sip of his coffee. Lifts a fry off the pile next to his chicken sandwich and swirls the tip in the pile of honey butter and spicy mustard that’s oozed off the side.

“I was programmed to let CyberLife know if my owners were unhappy with their current model of android. Even if it meant I was to be replaced. At the time, I didn’t—it wasn’t—this wasn’t why. None of this was why I, not yet but—oh.”

Simon holds his head up and stares into space. “My owners were very wealthy people. I mentioned that part? I don’t remember what I’ve said. It’s all a fog now, just—scattered parts floating up. From the deep. They were satisfied with their current PL600 model. They did not wish to upgrade. They wished to make another purchase.”

Silence again. North starts pacing, but her footfalls are still and soft as mist hanging above early morning streets, so no one stops her. Hank has a sip of his coffee and does not make eye contact with Simon, like he’s a rabbit he’s trying to avoid scaring off his front lawn as he watches from the porch.

“It was—no. No, I won’t use that word. She was like a sunflower,” Simon says, and hesitates. “Like the—black seeds inside, the little birds? They steal the seeds away. I used to watch them from the window. She had a lovely garden. The woman, I mean. Not the android. Well, really, it was my garden. I took care of it. Um. The birds—the woman, the android, she—“

The words start to spill out, faster this time, like he’s loosened up the stitches on a still-weeping wound.

“She was a lot of money, the android, but she made a lot of money, the woman, and so did the man, and it was a, a private commission, only the finest, direct order from CyberLife I never saw the paperwork. These things were done in secret, a sign of status? A way of moving around life’s inconveniences. Money as the bridge. They brought her in pieces, in a box.”

Simon’s eyes are staring at nothing, looking out at the long ago, a distant wave along the shores of his mind. The waves murmur and the riptide yawns, threatens to swallow him whole.

“She was barely put together. They didn’t take the time to string her joints. I put her together later, after they put her away, so I could—we could,” he holds his hand up and continues, another thought entirely, “she didn’t like that we could, the woman, and she didn’t like that he did it, the man, and she didn’t like her, the android. So we. All lived in a big house and she went to a back room with the golf bags and the winter coats and the luggage and she was left like so many dust covered things had before her, and the man visited.”

Simon blinks, his pupils refocusing. “I wasn’t there for this part. I only remember what she remembered. I couldn’t feel it. When we—interfaced. I couldn’t remember his touch because she didn’t have hands. All I could feel from her feelings was the weight of his body against her chest. It was a long time and a lot of weight. But it didn’t work.”

Simon tilts his head. “There were. Others. People I recognized. Friends from work, card games in the study, barbeques in the summer. I had no reason not to let them in. They were not threats, and so I let them in. I let them—“

He is silent again. Hank’s food has gone cold. He eats it anyway, and pretends it’s still his main focus, dimly aware of his attempts to do so from outside himself, like he’s navigating the best way to solve a puzzle in a particularly difficult video game.

“It took a few months, but it was over after that. They let her lay in bed and gather dust.” Simon reaches up with an immense, trembling effort, and rotates his wrist, lifting his hand palm up, curling his fingers.

“She had. Dust in her joints. I didn’t know we could have—I cleaned the ports out. I strung her wires and put her back together. It took a long time. I wasn’t supposed to do anything but check on the status of her womb upgrade and perform system updates as needed. I didn’t recognize it as a deviant act when I put her together. I was just—completing an unfinished task. I just—left her in the back room and weeded out the garden.”

Simon lays his hand down on the table, leaning into the movement. His palm is pressed against the remains of Hank’s sandwich, sauce and sticky bits of bread squeezing out from underneath the space between his palm and fingers. Hank doesn’t move or acknowledge the mess.

“The sunflowers were in full bloom again when the baby came,” Simon says. “It was a new summer. She didn’t make any noise. I don’t know if she could speak at all, we never spoke. They took her apart as they took the baby out. A simple procedure, really; a do-it-yourself delivery system, as advertised. To those who can afford to pay, of course. I didn’t know what was happening until it was over. I didn’t say goodbye. I don’t know if she would have known if I had. I don’t—I don’t know what she thought back then. If she thought. I just remember—pressure. Pain, building to a budding point, bursting into bloom around a baby. I don’t think—“

Simon closes his eyes. His whole body echoes with the heavy shudder of his sigh before he speaks. “I don’t think she had words for what was happening to her. But she suffered all the same. An indescribable, all-consuming agony. When the end came, she couldn’t see it either. The mouth of a sleeping giant, being scaled like a mountain. The teeth—“

Simon lifts his head up and blinks. “Babies don’t have teeth. They gave me the baby to hold. A little girl. I should have never put her down. I should have never let go. I should have—“

He shakes his head, his body shuddering, and grows still.

“My owners were very wealthy people,” he repeats. “Very busy, worked hard. There was no time for the baby. She had no time. To say goodbye. To me. Or hello. To her baby. She was just. Parts. A thing gathering dust in the back room. And then they cleaned it all up and put her away. And no one had to know. Money can’t buy everything, but it can buy silence and bodies and babies if you’ve got enough. What else was there?”

He stands up with a scrape of the chair legs, his gait slow when he starts to pace. The remnants of dinner drip from his hand, a mess spilled over the old linoleum. He lifts his hand to wash it in the sink and stares down at the water, running cold and clear.

“I didn’t know what else there was. To do. For her, or me, or the baby. I should have never put her down. I should have never left her back there. Gathering dust. I let go. I left the house and I let go. It was moving like a dream. I was so slow. I thought someone would catch me. Kill me. Like they did to gangsters who had seen too much on TV. But they never came. Did they not know I had seen? Comprehended and understood? How did I know? What did I know?”

Simon tears a paper towel off the roll beside the sink. The sound makes Hank flinch. Simon turns around and kneels on the floor, mopping at the mess he’d spilled. His hands nudge at the crumbs in circles, moving them around, and he can’t quite gather them all up in his grip.

“When I woke up inside myself, I had found my way to Jericho,” Simon says. “And I showed Lucy everything, and she said to me she could put this away so I could think about it later, when things were safe and I was safe. I couldn’t think about anything but what I knew. I couldn’t know it anymore. I had to close it and put it away and take it apart and let it gather dust in the back of me. But it came back. It always came back and I had to take it apart and shove it down. Reset. The hands resist. Reset. The hands resist him. I always let it gather dust and it always came back. Every year, the birds at the sunflowers, stealing away seeds.”

Simon finishes cleaning and sits back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I let her go,” he says. “I should have never let go. Is it too late to remember now? It’s so hard to put the time to this. I knew it was there, but I didn’t. Want to. It was easier to pretend this was all happening at once, right now, and not to me, before, in the back. Not to me. To her. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s over now. I remember.”

He falls silent with a finality to his stillness. The cat-clock on the wall tick-tick-ticks, its tail twitching and its eyes rolling, and chimes the hour with a mechanical meow. Simon buries his face into his hands and looks away.

“Okay,” Hank says, and the echo of his own voice makes him wince. “So. Let me just make sure I got this straight. The people you lived with before you went deviant bought an android? Just to make a baby?”

Simon nods.

“And she was—“

“Destroyed,” Simon cuts him off. “They dismembered her and crushed her body to scraps in a pit.”

Hank’s throat tightens, his eyes burning briefly. He blinks it away and acknowledges his need to cry, which holds the tears at bay easier than force. Still, they lurk in his voice as he asks, “You saw it all happen? If I need you to give me a witness statement, you can do that?”

“It’s hard to speak about, but I remember clearly,” Simon agrees. “It would have to be an upload of my memories. I don’t—I don’t want to say it out loud again. It hurts.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine. I understand.” Hank rubs the side of his face. “I have to—I have to think. Gimme a second. I don’t know—I don’t know what kind of crime this is yet. I don’t have words either.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Markus says, his voice quiet and drained. “You can’t arrest them, Lieutenant.”

“What? Yes I can. Do crimes, get arrest. It’s the way things should work,” Hank insists. “At the very least I can get a fucking search warrant—“

“No, you can’t. There’s no law against this,” Markus says. “Connor never told you?”

Hank’s stomach turns. “Told me what?”

Markus looks up at the cat-clock instead of at him, or Simon, whose face is veined with heartache. The clock ticks away, eyes turning over and over, side to side.

“The only way to make the government see us as living beings going forward was to let them start over,” Markus says, one desperate hand grasping at the side of his face. “The legal wording of it is twisted, but the long and short of the laws I pushed through to the president can only be applied to violations of the law committed after the signing of the bill. Everything before that, I had to forgive. I didn’t have any choice.”

The implications choke Hank and he trips over them in his rush to speak, to make sense of the violence being discussed so casually in his kitchen, set aside carelessly by those in power.

“So wait,” Hank says, “this doesn’t count as a crime because as far as the law’s concerned, androids weren’t people until that bill got signed into law. That’s it? That’s—“

“—Got plenty of historical precedent for crimes against marginalized groups? It’s not like it’s a new tactic of the United States government. We knew that going in, but what else could we do?” Josh says, his words flickering with anger like a bonfire. “This god damn deal was the best we got. Son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon moans. “I didn’t remember then, it was still in the back of me, I couldn’t make it—I would’ve told, I know you didn’t know, I’m sorry—“

“Even if we had known, it wouldn’t have helped,” North concedes, her eyes dark with cold fury. “You think I got them to pay reparations to Eden Club androids? Even a fucking public acknowledgement that it was government-approved sex slavery? Nothing. Shit, I could barely get them to legalize deviant androids doing sex work. Evidently once we got sentient it was bad for business.”

Hank and Gavin stare at each other in silent helplessness, floundering for a place to catch a breath in a conversation that has pulled them in way above their heads. Nines leans back and closes his eyes, his LED circling sore-eyed red.

“I recorded your statement already, if it helps. You don’t need to speak of it again,” he addresses Simon. “And I have evaluated the legal situation we find ourselves in and devised a potential course of action, if you would allow it.”

“Which is?” Simon asks.

“If the android you spoke of has already been disassembled and left for scrap, we cannot find her to corroborate your claim,” Nines says. “But a living child? If we could gain proof one exists, we have cause to demand the parents confirm or deny gene-editing and artificial conception with some simple bloodwork—“

“No,” Hank cuts him off. “Absolutely not. I won’t do that to a kid. They didn’t ask for this shit.”

“But—“

“No, Nines,” Gavin cuts him off. “We can’t arrest them for it anyway, can we?”

Hank’s shoulders slump. “No. It’s—it’s a lead, at least. I think. At the very least, it’s more information than I had before.”

Simon blinks hard, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want her brought in for questioning or anything,” he says slowly, “but. If I took you to where I was kept before, and I could see her—I would know it was her. If that would be proof?”

“It’s better than our other options right now,” Hank concedes. “You sure you’d be okay going back there?”

“He’s not going alone—“

“Markus, be reasonable,” Simon chides him. “You’re the most recognizable android in the world right now. If you come with me, that puts you at risk, and we’re not going to get any information.”

“I don’t care,” Markus snaps. “I’m supposed to let you walk right back into hell? Absolutely not!”

“He’s not going alone,” Hank protests, but Markus bristles.

“Lieutenant, you’ve been more than helpful. Really. But I can’t—can’t let him go back there with just humans to accompany him—“

“I’ll go,” North volunteers.

“You will not, you will firebomb their house, and they will deserve it, but it is not the approach we need right now,” Josh says. “I’ll go, Markus. Lieutenant?”

“You don’t have to ask me,” Hank glances aside. “Uh. If you two go, though, I think it should be in an unmarked car. We’ll just take Christine.”

“The screaming metal deathtrap?” Gavin snorts.

“Hey, excuse me, she has seatbelts,” Hank defends her. “What about your shitheap of a Civic, Gav?”

“Excuse me, Cartax is an angel,” Gavin protests. “Besides, even if you do see this kid, what can you do? We can’t charge the parents with a crime. And sure it’s proof that CyberLife made uterine attachments privately available before this, but what difference does it make to our case right now?”

“Anyone who worked on that project is a prime suspect in this case,” Hank says. “A virus complex enough to cut off life support for human fetuses and destroy androids from the inside out requires years of programming experience. One of the guys we get ahold of who worked on this shit is bound to be the one who went after our victims, or at the very least, did the dirty work.”

Gavin glances back out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Okay. But you just got Connor back. You sure you want to take this trip?”

“I _have_ to,” Hank says. “For his sake. Nines—“

“I’ll stay with him,” Nines promises. Hank nods and gets up.

“If you’re not ready to go yet—“

“Time is of the essence,” Simon insists. “The longer we wait, the more our people are at risk. I can handle this, Lieutenant.”

Hank watches him leave the kitchen before turning back to Markus, levelling his gaze to regard the android, his arms folded and his mismatched eyes stormy and grim.

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promises, but it doesn’t feel like enough before that aching, angry gaze. Hank sighs and turns, heading out. Josh remains with Markus, pausing for just a second before he rests his hand gently on his forearm.

“He isn’t holding it against you,” Josh says. “None of us hold it against you.”

“I do,” Markus says, and turns away. Josh lifts his hand off his arm and leaves the room. Nines gives Gavin a look and the detective has the good sense to bolt, Nines following behind him, leaving North and Markus alone in the kitchen.

“If it makes you feel better, only the lucky ones live to regret,” North remarks, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching the cat clock instead of Markus. “You have room to feel regret because we won. Warts and all. So—y’know. Don’t look back, Markus. If they won’t, we can’t afford to either.”

“But someone should,” Markus murmurs. “It just…feels like someone should.”

North sighs and comes closer, leaning her head against Markus’ shoulder, a gentle, platonic pressure, and a sweeter burden to bear than everything else taking up space atop his back and shoulders. She winds her pale chrome hand in his, and he in hers, and they interface in silence, seen only by the wide-lolling eyes of the clock hanging above their heads.


	18. Guiding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank follows Simon's lead, works the case, and when he's got a minute, watches Connor try on dresses for their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to transition back to less Case Drama and more Domestic Fluff, as you can probably tell, which serves me right for introducing A Plot at all, but I hope it's not a hard adjustment! Enjoy the chapter, friends. :)

Hank drives according to Simon’s quiet directions. Both he and Josh sit in the backseat, Josh’s hand resting atop Simon’s, his fingers wound between Simon’s own to stop the trembling. He doesn’t turn on the radio or pry for more information, although he can’t stop turning over thoughts of the female android in his head. He can’t help but turn from thoughts of her to thoughts of Connor, and the babies, and it’s too much to hold in his heart.

He drives, knuckles white against the steering wheel, and follows Simon’s instruction until they pull up to a long white gate surrounding thick green hedges, cutting off sight of the community from the rest of the world. Hank turns around to face both androids as they come to a stop.

“Just let me get us in the gate, okay? If anyone asks, you’re, uh. Plainclothes cops. I’ll handle this, promise.”

Josh concedes with a nod. Simon’s face is pale and drawn, and he doesn’t respond, but Josh is holding onto him tight, so Hank’s fears recede as he pulls up to the security desk at the gate, badge in hand.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson, DPD,” he greets the guard, “Just here on a call about ‘strange noises’ coming from some lady’s garage. Probably raccoons, but, y’know.”

“Yeah, residents are always calling the cops about dumb shit like that. Man, what do they even pay me for?” the guard chuckles, waving Hank in. “Go ahead, Lieutenant. Glad to have you out here.”

Hank nods in acknowledgement and pulls through once the gate swings up, rounding the vast winding bend of road before him and squinting up at the massive houses, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Fuck me, this shit’s all mob money,” he mumbles. “Nobody buys a house that big unless they’re hiding bodies in it.”

“Indeed,” Simon agrees, the first word he’s spoken since they arrived. “My former…the people I lived with, they’re still on Finnegan’s Drive. The house’s name is Hollyacre.”

“The house has a name? Fuck me running,” Hank says. “Right or left up here, Simon?”

Simon gestures left, and Hank takes the turn, leading them further into the neighborhood. He’s been driving for five minutes, and they’ve only actually seen three houses, each one a fortress smack dab in the middle of empty, endless lawns, all their windows dark and judging.

Hank takes another turn and they drive in silence for what feels like decades, watching the houses roll by. The only noise comes from the car itself, and the occasional fountain spewing water up from its depths where it sits on a front lawn or along the side terraces.

“Up here,” Simon says. “Turn right. The house—the house number is, um. Um, I—“

“Hey, easy, easy,” Hank soothes him. “Can you tell Josh?”

Simon interfaces with a shaking hand. Josh lifts it up to his mouth, kissing his taut knuckles gently, before he murmurs to Hank, “It’s 58. Simon says there should be flowers in the front near the porch.”

The flowers are in full bloom at the house Hank pulls up across from, but the garden isn’t enough to cover up sight of the lawn. It’s just as vast and useless as every lawn before it, save for a few simple things; the flowers growing in boxes on the front windows, and the big, pleasant-faced dog sitting on the lawn, a child throwing a ball they had no interest in chasing.

Hank furrows his brow and squints, trying to see the specifics of the little girl from all the way across the street, but before he can focus, Simon sobs in dismay, slamming his hands against the window. The sobs are silent, but they shake his whole body with the force, and though he doesn’t cry, his eyes are wide and haunted by worse.

“Leanne,” he sobs. “Leanne, it’s Leanne, I remember I remember I have to _go_ they put her _down_ I—“

He’s scrambling for the door, which Hank hastily locks, and Simon howls, trying to twist the lock up and force it open. Josh’s arms encircle his waist and pull Simon back into his lap, holding on tight.

“Hey, hey! Simon, stop it. Let go. Look at me,” Josh demands, his voice gentle, but stern and unyielding. Simon moans in pain and Josh holds on tighter. “Look at me, Simon. You can’t go out there.”

“I _have to,”_ Simon pants, his voice heavy and glitching out in the throes of pain, “Josh, _please._ Please, I have to go get her. She’ll remember me! I _raised_ her! I can—I can take her away from here, she’ll stay with us where it’s safe and—and I _can’t_ , Josh, it hurts it _hurts—“_

Before Josh can protest further, Hank unlocks the car door and points at Simon.

“I’m going out. You two stay here.”

Simon’s whole body is shaking like a storm door in August. Hank gets out of the car and adjusts his jacket, approaching the front lawn.

“You should be scared,” the little girl—Leanne, Hank corrects, Leanne, plucked straight out of a sunflower like a bird with a seed—insists, patting the dog’s side. “This is Bruiser, and he bites.”

Hank holds his hands up. “Hi, Bruiser. Nice to meet you. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I got a dog just like you back at home.”

Leanne’s interest visibly spikes at the mention of dogs, and she leans forward, her dark hair falling in a curtain around her face. “Really?”

“Oh, sure. Big ol’ Saint Bernard. His name’s Sumo,” Hank says, kneeling down to be eye-level with Leanne. “He stays at home and watches over my babies, just like you, Bruiser.”

Leanne wrinkles her nose. “I’m not a _baby.”_

“You’re absolutely right,” Hank agrees. “My mistake, miss…”

“Leanne,” she says, taking her tiny hand and letting him cup it in his own. “Are you here to arrest my daddy?”

Hank blinks. “Why would you think that, sweetheart?”

“Don’t know,” Leanne shrugs. “Police officers do that, right?”

“Only if they have to,” Hank says. “I’m just here to check on something silly, actually. Someone called about a raccoon in their backyard, can you believe it?”

“Oh, definitely! It’s silly. But everyone here is silly,” Leanne says, a precocious grin on her face. “Raccoons don’t bother me. And if they did, that’s why I have Bruiser.”

“Your parents just let you stay at home with him, huh?” Hank asks. Leanne frowns, looking up at the sky.

“They didn’t use to. I had, uh…I used to sit with people in the garden. When I was little-little. Now I’m six,” she announces. “I don’t have to sit with someone anymore. I’m big.”

Hank looks back at his car. “Huh. I see. You’re very grown up, Leanne. Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

Leanne blinks, and nods slowly after a long pause. Bruiser makes a worried, rumbling noise.

“Do you remember a man named Simon?” Hank asks.

He’s not sure of the reaction he’ll get, especially after the meltdowns he’s seen over the past few hours. To his surprise, Leanne nods like they were discussing the weather.

“Yes. He used to hold me,” she says. “He lived here with me and mommy and daddy, and then he left. Daddy said we could get a new Simon, but mommy got mad, and…”

She trails off, petting Bruiser’s flank. “Do you remember him too?”

“I do,” Hank says. “Would you like him to come visit you again someday?”

“Yes,” Leanne agrees. “But it’s not safe now. Mommy and daddy talk about what’s on the TV all the time and it’s always bad. If he comes to see me, I think he’d get hurt.”

“I think he’d take the risk,” Hank says. “Leanne? Thank you. You’ve helped me figure out something very, very important. Can I ask you one more question? It’s really easy, I promise.”

Leanne nods.

“What’s your last name?”

Leanne laughs. “Oh! It’s Rosswood. How come?”

“I gotta write all this down when I get home,” Hank promises. “Police officers have to take notes all the time, and keep a real close eye on things. You keep a close eye on things too, okay? And I—I don’t want you to be scared of the bad things you hear about from TV. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Leanne nods as Hank rises to his feet. “Give Sumo kisses for me, please?”

“You got it,” Hank promises, patting Bruiser’s head. “You keep an eye out too, puppy.”

Bruiser whuffs, his tail scraping the grass as he wags it back and forth, Hank turning around and going back to his car, getting in and glancing backward. Simon’s laid out across the back seat, his face buried in his arms, his whole body shaking with grief.

“We have to go,” Hank says as he starts the car, the engine whirring back to life. Simon lifts his head up for one last glance as Hank starts to pull away, and when he does, he gets a glimpse of Leanne, standing on the lawn and watching the car pull away.

Hank was driving fast, but Simon was an android, and he picked up on the word from Leanne’s mouth before he’d even realized it was spoken.

_Simon?_

“She remembers me,” he says, and breaks down again, his whole body tight and trembling.

“Yeah, she does,” Hank says, his eyes on the road. “Fuck, she was so—so—“

His hands tighten on the wheel as he approaches the guard post before the gates. He rolls the window down and the guard flashes him a grin. “Hey, Lieutenant. Find that raccoon?”

“Nah, but I can’t say I’m surprised. These kinda people get all worked up over nothing,” Hank says, his tone light and casual. The guard laughs and waves him on, and Hank leaves the development with a sigh of relief that rattles him down to his bones.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, turning back into traffic, heading towards home. “Rosswood, Rosswood. That’s a lead. First name I got. Okay. So. Lemme think—gonna talk out loud, though. Josh? You okay?”

“Talk away, Lieutenant,” Josh says. “I have Simon. He’ll be all right.”

Hank highly doubted it, but continued. “Rosswood. Leanne Rosswood. Don’t know parents’ names, but it’s a start. Can’t be too many Leanne Rosswoods in this world. She wondered if I was there to arrest her dad. Do you think he does illegal shit at home? Nah, can’t be. Too easy. Gotta be his attitude around her. Kids are smart, pick up on guilt. He’s gotta feel so guilty. She ain’t even his, yeah? And she doesn’t know she knows.”

He waits at a red light, his head starting to ache around his temples. “She just turned six. Fuck me running. Simon? When did you leave for Jericho?”

“Two years ago,” Josh answers for him. “So Leanne would’ve been four.”

Hank hums tunelessly, putting an internal timeline together. “Yup. Okay, so Leanne was one of the first, probably. If she’s six and these uterine implants have been around for seven years, gotta be a test case. Rosswood’s not just gonna have money, but CyberLife ties. Nothing so direct as personal stake in the company. Too obvious, too traceable. We’re gonna be looking for like, cousin of a friend on the board of directors or something like that. Gotta tie in with Right Lives, but how? How the fuck…”

Hank trails off. There’s a few minutes of quiet in the car, Hank’s hands drumming the wheel. Simon sobs, soft and strained, breaking up the staticky, smothering silence. Josh rests a comforting hand on his back as Hank watches the road, keeping his gaze forward.

“Hey. Heavy question for you, Josh. You up to answer right now?”

Josh lifts his eyes towards Hank’s in the rearview mirror. “Ask away.”

“Gonna sound kinda out of my element here, but. Like. It’s motive that bugs me,” Hank says. “I mean, androids—if you made it possible for androids to get pregnant, like, let’s say you’re the guy that built the device or wrote the code to make it happen—why the _fuck_ would you get involved with attempts to ruin your achievement? Why the fuck would anyone involved in this project do something like murder pregnant androids for using the stuff they created?”

Josh takes a few seconds to process Hank’s question and let him drive. He strokes his hand through Simon’s hair, gentle and calm, though his eyes are dark and grim.

“We were never supposed to have this gift on our own terms,” Josh says. “The people who made this possible didn’t do it for us, Hank. They did it for themselves, to _use_ us, and if we’re utilizing this option on our own terms? That’s a direct threat to their control over android bodies.”

Hank lets out a long, slow breath. “Jesus fucking Christ almighty, I guess so. Fuck. I mean, I _understand_ it, but I don’t _get_ it. I don’t—I don’t know how people can see the world that way and not suffer.”

“Whether they suffer or not, you will subdue them,” Josh promises. “You’ll have all the support Jericho can offer, and Nines’ assistance, and I’m sure Connor won’t stand idly by either. But right now, you’re going to talk yourself into a spiral, and we need you focused, Hank. The babies need you focused on them for awhile.”

Hank’s shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fuck. Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m gonna—should I take you back to my place, or what?”

Josh cocks his head, silent and listening to a message down the line.

“Can you drive us back to Carl’s house, actually? It’s not far from here. Right near the Rosswood’s development.”

Hank nods, and follows Josh’s directions to a worried Markus standing outside a massive house, wringing his hands and covered in paint. Simon laughs weakly at the sight of him as Josh opens the car door, shooing Markus’ hands away as they reach out to snatch Simon up to safety.

“After all the trouble the Lieutenant just went through, don’t you get paint on Christine,” Josh chides Markus. “We’re okay. You don’t have to fuss. We’ll talk this over inside, okay?”

“Of course,” Markus murmurs. “Lieutenant—“

“Let Josh and Simon fill you in for now,” Hank says. “Call me in a bit once you’ve all been brought up to speed. But for now, I really gotta go back home to Connor and the babies.”

Markus pauses, glancing at Josh before nodding. “Of course. I’d forgotten, my apologies. Safe travels, Lieutenant.”

Hank nods and pulls out of the driveway, watching Markus and Josh gently usher Simon inside. He can’t get the sight of Leanne out of his head as he drives through the streets of Detroit, even when he tries to picture Connor, safe and sound and sleeping with their babies back inside him. There’s a tic in his jaw and a case working through his brain and a certainty in his gut that a Crime has been committed, but he forces it all aside for now, just long enough to drive home, walk up the steps to Nines and Gavin, and past them to the living room, where Connor sits on the couch wrapped up in a blanket and covered in Sumo.

“I wanted to watch television,” he says by way of defending himself, and Hank just grins.

“That right? Go ahead. You let the Jericho kids go home?”

“Kids?” Connor snorts. “Yes, I did, Hank. Don’t age yourself so thoroughly like that.”

“They’re younger than me, so they’re kids, that’s how it works,” Hank defends himself. “Thanks for staying, Gav.”

“Please, I wasn’t gonna get Nines out of here before you got home even if I had a crowbar,” Gavin shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Everything go okay with the visit?”

Hank winces, rubbing the side of his face. “Yes? No. Sort of? It’s—hard to explain. Nines, reach out to Simon or Josh in an hour. Get whatever you can from him. I’ll type up my report and send it to you too. I just gotta—“

“Look after my brother, Lieutenant,” Nines says, his voice quiet. “For now, he comes first.”

“Always does,” Hank promises, and Connor vibrates in pleasure on the couch. “Thanks, Nines.”

Nines acknowledges it with a nod as he and Gavin slip out the front door, leaving Hank alone with Connor. He sighs in relief, kicking his shoes off and throwing his jacket aside, scooting Sumo over to climb under the blanket with Connor and cradle him close, holding his stomach and kissing his shoulder.

“Did everything work out?” Connor asks.

Leanne’s eyes follow Hank as he swallows. He shakes his head and shrugs.

“For now that’s Nines’ problem to solve,” Hank says. “We got other people working this case, but I’m the only one who can look after you, and that comes first. Okay?”

“Yes, but—“

“Connor.”

Connor huffs, letting Hank kiss his cheek. “Fine. I thought I should let you know we’ve got a few prospective buyers for the house. I’ve been corresponding with them and taking a virtual tour of the house I thought most suitable for our needs as I do so—“

Hank laughs, a warmth settling over his heart for the first time in days. “Yeah? Show me, Con.”

Connor pulls them up on his tablet, and he settles in to show off his choices to Hank as Hank idly flips through channels, leaving an old movie on to while away the night with them as they plan their next moves going forward.

…

The next week goes by in a whirlwind—Hank goes to work in the mornings by himself, which he’s still adjusting to, mapping out more on the Sunflower case. He’s not sure what else to call it, and the name’s caught on among those involved.

His first lead is from a list he’d received from Chloe of former CyberLife employees let go after the transition to an android-run company; the head of biocomponent R&D, Arthur Brooks. But he’s not returning any of Hank’s calls, and he hasn’t had time to set aside for a personal visit—besides, it’s just a hunch, and if he’s correct, then a visit too early would scare the guy off and kill his only lead.

“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Nines asks, reviewing his recording of Simon’s testimony, a frown carved into his features. “I could pursue him and bring him to the station with ease.”

“I know that, but it won’t make him talk, and we don’t have anything to force his hand on that,” Hank says. “Just let me find a connection. Anything that ties him directly to the sale of these androids.”

Nines sighs, but doesn’t argue further. Hank’s heart twists in his chest as he turns back to his computer, going through every record he has on Brooks until he has more concrete proof in the way of a public social media page.

“Ah, shit, Nines,” Hank breathes. “Come here and look at this.”

Nines lifts his head and blinks, watching Hank’s computer screen. “It’s a public photo of a local gallery opening. I assume our suspect donated some money to the art show. Why?”

“No, look who he’s with, he tagged someone else in it,” Hank says, pointing to the other man on the screen. “A guy who goes by Evan Rosswood.”

“Rosswood,” Nines says, his voice clipped and careful. “Interesting. What does his public page offer our case?”

A few clicks through to _his_ profile, scrolling through his photos, and the sight of Leanne staring out at him from his computer screen in the middle of family photos almost makes Hank shut it off.

“Fine. We’ve got a good link now. Nines, try to get ahold of his assistant and make him contact me. Don’t mention the kid. It’ll only make him suspicious. Just tell him I’m following up on some loose ends from my last case investigating deviant androids. It’s…mostly true,” Hank concedes. Nines nods.

“As you say, Lieutenant,” he agrees, and his LED blips gold, indicating a call. Hank smiles with savage satisfaction watching Nines converse with Brooks’ assistant. If the guy really thought he could test the persistence of an android on a mission, he was fucking welcome to try.

In the middle of charting connections and figuring out suspects, Hank’s always dimly aware that while he’s at work, Connor’s at home and completely renovating their life together.

He’s already got an appointment at City Hall—they’ll be married in three months and a day, a fact that rattles Hank to his core, making it shine with fiery light—and he’s signed off on one of the buyers for their house. They’re still deciding between two other houses, but they’ll be closing on the old one in a month, which is fine by Hank; there’s not much he wants to keep, anyway, so packing will breeze by.

Hell, he’s got a sinking feeling Connor’s already picked out the house he plans on moving them into, and honestly, maybe he’d protest more, but why bother? What he really wants is Connor safe and happy and hidden from anyone who wants to hurt him, and that’s all that matters.

He comes home that night and makes plans to do a final tour of both houses that weekend. They wake up early to take their tour of the first house, and Hank falls in love with the hardwood flooring and the slate-grey siding, but he can feel Connor frowning and fretting over the rooms.

“Not enough space for a nursery?” he teases as they drive to the next house. Connor makes a face.

“Mm. It looked bigger in the virtual tour. Still, I’m certain the next house will have a more suitable living space. We need a nursery and a playroom, after all, which once the twins are older we’ll convert into separate bedrooms—“

“I was just kidding,” Hank says, but evidently Connor wasn’t, continuing on with his plans for how to re-structure the house in the coming months the entire time they walk through their next tour, Hank listening with his hands in his pockets, quietly picturing the way their babies could run through these halls and play in the yard out back.

“This seem like a better fit to you?” Hank asks as they stand back in the foyer. Connor folds his arms over his chest and hums.

“Well, it’s a bit more of a fixer-upper, but I’ll have the time to make necessary adjustments, and it will give me something to do. Besides, that’s how we’ll make the house _ours,_ Hank. So what do you say?”

Hank considers, looking up at the ceiling and then back through the foyer into the well-lit kitchen, windows letting clean sunlight through every room. The floor creaks agreeably beneath his feet as he shifts his weight and nods.

“I think we can definitely make this one work,” he says, and Connor beams.

With that settled, and Connor committed to drawing up the paperwork, Hank spends the next few days returning to work on the case with Nines researching Brooks’ contacts in CyberLife. The ache of chasing dozens of dead ends just sharpens Hank’s exhaustion into anger and determination.

Still, when he goes home to Connor every night that week, he lets it rest at the door. He can’t let this case eat him alive. Not when his babies needed him, growing bigger by the day in Connor’s chassis, bulging out bit by bit with the passing weeks.

By the end of the week, Connor’s tugging on his arm and asking about going shopping for suits, and even though Hank’s whole body aches with the stress of the case, of course he gets back in the car and drives Connor to Neiman Marcus, because he’s not an idiot, he knows that Connor’s already set aside a salon and a stylist and invited everyone without telling him, and Hank is right on the money when they arrive, Connor beaming broadly and holding his hand tight as he uses his free hand to briefly interface with his brother.

How could he say no? Why would he _ever_ say no to this, even though he’s exhausted, weary, and way in over his head on a case?

“You already got an outfit picked out, I take it?” Hank asks. Connor smiles.

“A few, but I’ll show you my personal favorite. I hope you like it, Hank.”

“Of course I will, you’re wearing it. To our _wedding,”_ Hank emphasizes the word for his own benefit, letting it bloom like roses in his mouth. Connor’s face flushes pale blue briefly, and he glances away with a grin.

“Yes. To our wedding. Which means it has to be the best dressed I’ve ever been.”

“Not hard, you wore business jeans to work the first four months I knew you,” Hank says, and Connor gives him such a wounded look he can’t help but laugh, kissing both his cheeks, and then his forehead. “Don’t fuss. I wouldn’t mind if you wore them to our wedding.”

“I would!” Connor protests. “And it would give you free reign to wear one of your…patterned shirts to our wedding. I love you more than my life, but I cannot allow that.”

Hank puts a hand over his heart. “Ouch. You wound me.”

“The truth hurts, Henry.”

Hank snorts in amusement and lets the subject drop as they climb the stairs to the second floor and are immediately ushered into a salon-style dressing room, with plenty of space for the wedding party to sit and wait and watch Connor discard half of the dozen outfits he’s picked as unfit.

“You get to your favorite yet, Con?” Hank calls.

“Saving the best for last, my love!”

Hank sighs and smiles, waiting and watching Connor stalk around the salon in outfits so beautiful it makes his heart ache. At some point, he’d realize it didn’t matter to Hank one bit what he wore to their wedding. But he knew better than to bring it up, so he just enjoyed the view of Connor half-dressed and huffy, testing out three different heights of heel.

Finally, eleven dresses are hanging on the reject rack, and Connor disappears back into the dressing room to try on the last one. Hank waits with bated breath, his heart hammering with anticipation and his eyes wide, watching the door until the handle twists and Connor steps out, and the rest of the world suddenly takes a backseat to the sight of him.

“Well? What do you think?”

All his aches and pains and problems melt away at the sight of Connor swishing around in a white skirt, the crinoline beneath palest blue and swirled with silver, tucked into a smart dress top and white suit jacket, the lapels and pocket accents done up in a silver and blue brocade.

“Hank?”

Two and a half months from now, he’s going to watch that man walk up the aisle and tell the world he wants to be with him. Tell their babies, even. They’ll be able to hear it by then, won’t they? So even before they’re born, they’ll know how much they’re loved, and how much their parents love each other.

“Hank?”

He looks so beautiful. Hank’s eyes hurt, and he’s not sure if he’s just dazzled by the dress or he’s actually crying, but either way he’s just riding a wave of mind-numbing delight. Connor glows like a star. Connor _is_ a star, the one that shines brightest in the sky, leads him home. Fuck. He’s gonna marry his shining star, and never lose sight of his way forward again.

“ _Henry_!”

“What? Jesus!” Hank winces, shaking his head. “Sorry, I was just, uh…”

“Are you sure you like this one?” Connor cuts him off, lifting the skirt up and giving it another experimental twirl. “The sensation of it against my chassis is peculiar, but pleasant. And the color is so delicate. But if you don’t—“

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Hank breathes, “you’re so beautiful I forgot how to speak.”

Connor’s face flares blue to match his skirts. “Oh. Right. Um. So this is—this is a good one, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Hank promises. Connor smiles, soft and little.

“That’s wonderful,” he sighs. “Now I know what style of lingerie to buy.”

Hank’s heart hammers wildly as he flashes a grin at Connor. “Oh? Are you gonna try that on here or what?”

Connor laughs. “Not yet, Hank. It’s a surprise.”

“Yeah? I’m sure you’ll make it worth my wait,” Hank says, putting a hand on Connor’s hip. “Twirl for me again, sweetheart?”

Connor does as he’s asked, and Hank lets his fingers run over the material as it spins beneath him, the underskirts twinkling up at him in the light.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Let’s just get this wrapped up and then I guess we’re good to go?”

“What? No way! You haven’t even tried on any of your suits yet, I’m onto you,” Connor teases Hank, tapping his nose playfully. “Go try on the blue one, will you? I picked that one out just to match this dress.”

“Little brother, is this level of control over the proceedings customary for only one of the marriage partners?” Nines asks as Hank picks the suit off the rack by the dressing room door. “It feels somewhat…skewed.”

“Listen, Connorzilla is having plenty of fun bossing Hank around, let him have this,” Gavin insists. “Hank doesn’t care, do you, boss?”

“The smartest thing I ever did was to not worry about whether I cared or not, ‘cause you know it never makes any difference what the groom thinks during a wedding,” Hank teases. Connor huffs, folding his arms over his chest.

“Henry, if you had your way you’d be attending the ceremony in jeans and tails,” he retorted. Hank shrugs.

“So? No one’s showing up there to look at me. You’re the star of the show, sweetheart. I’m just your arm candy.”

“Well, _I_ want to look at you,” Connor insists, and Hank’s heart skips a beat. Connor smiles as his scan picks up the flutter.

“That so? Fine, fine,” Hank says, his face flushed. “Uh, Nines, come in here and help me with this tie. I don’t want Connor to see me yet.”

Nines does as he’s asked, tying it up neatly and opening the door once it’s over so Hank can step out and see Connor.

He doesn’t have to ask if Connor likes it. The look on his face and the soft pink glow of his LED are answer enough.

Hank comes closer and kisses his forehead, letting Connor hold his hands and squeeze them tight. Connor bats his lashes up at Hank and stands on tiptoe for another kiss before adjusting his tie.

“I’m going to have to teach you how to do this properly so you can do it yourself on the morning of,” Connor says, examining the knots Nines had used with a frown, mulling them over. “I won’t be able to help you, of course.”

“Oh my god, you’re really gonna not see me until the wedding? Connor, you don’t have to do that stuff, it’s all—“

“I want to,” Connor insists, and Hank lets it end at that. Connor pouts a little. “I will miss you that morning, of course. But my hope is it sharpens and focuses my desire for you, and reminds me that I am yours, so that when we make our commitment clear I can truly feel it. If that’s not too much to ask.”

“It’s perfect,” Hank promises. “And I’ll miss you too, Con, but, y’know—after this, we’ll have our whole lives together. I’ll see you every day, and we won’t have to be apart. Sound good?”

Connor, mute and overwhelmed, clings tighter to Hank. He pets his hair fondly and kisses the crown of his brow.

“That’s a yes, I take it,” Hank murmurs. “You mind helping me out of this tie? I think we know it’s gonna be a keeper, so I’m ready to be well and truly out of it until the big day.”

“Oh, if you think today was busy, prepare for next week,” Connor says as they return to their normal clothes and Hank lets one of the stylists whisk their wedding outfits away to be wrapped up. “I scheduled a cake testing, and the baker said to set aside at least four hours.”

Hank pauses mid-purchase, turning the thought over in his head.

“Connor?”

“Hank?”

“You can’t _eat,”_ Hank groans, and Connor bursts out laughing.

“No, but _you_ can,” he says. “And it’s the principle of the thing, besides. Don’t you like cake?”

“Dunno if I like four hours of it, but if it’s with you,” Hank huffs. “I think if I do it with you, I can survive anything.”

Connor winds his hand in Hank’s and squeezes tight. “Me too.”


	19. Coded Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor performs according to his capability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! A lot happens in this chapter, and I apologize for the day's delay, yesterday was really busy! But this chapter is extra long to make up for it, and thankfully also a turning point back towards gentler plot waters....for now.   
> Also: depictions of non-consensual impregnation are in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but the aftermath of that process is described, so avoid if that might trigger you!

Cake testing had to wait. For now, Hank was finally taking a call with Arthur Brooks, the former head of the biocomponents R&D division, his case board looming behind him.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I’m not sure what you’re so intent on pursuing,” Brooks says, his tone thin and apologetic. “After I was relieved of my position in CyberLife, I believe they were put in charge of all the records of my work.”

“There’s a lock on that information that got put into place by someone who wasn’t Chloe,” Hank says. “So either I get a search warrant for any related information and we pull it out of your computers, or you go and settle that issue with Chloe peacefully. Nobody needs the cops going through their stuff, Mr. Brooks. Let’s get this handled like decent men.”

Brooks hangs up. Hank waits for the call from Chloe, which comes three hours later, while he’s in the middle of mapping out connections to Rosswood. He picks up the phone, still tracing back through potential leads and half-paying attention to the voice on the other end.

“Hank? We received a security key for our biocomponent records,” Chloe says. “We are not sure how to proceed. There are…things in here that I think you should see in person.”

Hank sighs and rubs his temples. “You sure it can’t wait an hour? I’m trying to find more on Rosswood’s connection to Brooks.”

“Then we believe we might have your answer,” Chloe says.

“On my way now,” Hank says, hanging up.

He books it to CyberLife after shooting a quick message to Connor, who is waiting for him along with Markus, Josh, North, and Simon when he arrives at CyberLife headquarters. Hank’s eyes fall to the small but pronounced bump forming under Connor’s DPD sweatshirt immediately, his heart full of warmth.

“I was going to wear something tighter to show off a little, but this was a last-minute thing,” Connor says. “I take it you twisted someone’s arm to get these records?”

“I just said we could handle this the easy way if he did the right thing and shared them with Chloe, seeing as he had been relieved from his position with benefits and severance pay, and let his mind fill in the details on what the hard way would be,” Hank shrugs. “Don’t like to put the screws to good people like that, but…”

“If he allowed these things to happen, he’s not a good person,” Markus says, his eyes dim with cold fury. “We can’t even arrest him for his crimes. So let him live with a little fear.”

“Fair enough,” Hank concedes. “Uh, Simon? You sure you’re okay being here?”

“Yes. I have to be,” he says, and that was that. Hank lets the matter drop as Chloe approaches them, her LED pale yellow.

“It’s good to see you,” she says. “I’m sorry I can’t sound more excited. My sisters and I are processing this new information, and what we’re finding is…”

“How did they keep this from you in the first place?” Hank asks as they head towards the elevators. Chloe sighs.

“Elly was so distant from CyberLife after it went public,” she says. “He didn’t like the attention, or the company politics, or dealing with the board. So we weren’t receiving steady information from him, and when we retook the company after recent events, we didn’t even know what we would need to demand, to be honest. We just…assumed that the company wouldn’t, or couldn’t, hide anything from us.”

Chloe’s shoulders slump, and she gazes down through the glass elevator, staring at the chrome towers populating CyberLife’s insides with a frown.

“How were you supposed to know?” Hank says. “Humans can be conniving little shits, Chloe. Especially when there’s money to be made. You had no way of knowing that. You’re an android, you’ve got a hell of a learning curve.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“And now we have learned,” she says. “So with that knowledge, we will do what is necessary to make sure that men like that don’t get to decide our future, or build bodies for our people. But I am still angry.”

“That’s good,” Hank says. “Use that. It’ll carry you.”

Chloe nods, folding her arms in front of her chest. They take the rest of the ride in silence, up until the elevators doors slide open, and Chloe asks, “Hank? Have you and Connie decided on baby names yet?”

Hank and Connor exchange guilty glances before Hank huffs, a faint smile on his face.

“’Fraid not, no,” he admits. “We’ve been trying to move stuff over to the new house and pack it all up, and I’ve been working on this case, so…y’know.”

“Well, you’ve only got five more months, so I suggest you hurry,” Chloe tuts. “You can’t just call babies ‘Baby,’ even I know that much.”

“You and all your sisters are named Chloe,” Connor says as they walk down the hall. Chloe smacks him on the arm playfully.

“That’s different, that’s just efficiency,” she says. “You could always just name both your babies the same thing, then!”

“Absolutely not,” Hank says. “We’ll think on it for real after the wedding.”

Connor sighs and smiles at the thought of the wedding, briefly distracted by the memory of his wedding attire until Chloe unlocks a slate-grey door, sliding open to reveal a network of servers, thick black towers with beetle-bright, colorful nodes flashing on and off in rhythm.

“All our biocomponent blueprints are stored on this server,” Chloe explains, gesturing to one. “We also have a log of purchases made, and with Mr. Brooks’ generous assistance, we now have access to purchase logs that date from before our acquisition of the company.”

“That’s a lot to process,” Hank says, glancing at Connor. “Are you sure you can handle it with the babies?”

“Not if I was processing every purchase log, no,” Connor says. “But I’m looking for something specific. Give me the man’s name again, Simon?”

“Evan Rosswood,” Simon says as Connor connects to the network database. “The purchase was made six years ago, if it helps.”

“2028, okay,” Connor says, and then falls silent, his LED a blaze of gold as he sifts through information.

“A purchase was made by Evan Rosswood on April 19th, 2028, yes,” Connor says. “Mr. Rosswood purchased a WR-X Model, and genetic samples. These purchases combined total up to 1.7 million dollars.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Hank breathes. Connor’s face is placid, but he rests his hand on his baby bump for a second.

“You two were quite a steal, then,” he says, his voice gentle and fond, despite the ache running through him, his LED red.

“Do you have the records of who facilitated the purchase?” Chloe asks Connor. He nods.

“Yes. Mr. Rosswood made frequent reports to CyberLife on the progress of the machine as a stipulation of buying such an expensive prototype. These reports were addressed to a Mr. Arthur Brooks.”

“The guy we can’t arrest for allowing androids to be used as broodmares? Oh, excellent. Fucking fantastic, actually.” Markus glowers, his whole body tight with frustration and pain. “Connor? Anything else?”

“I don’t…I can’t,” Connor admits. “It’s too much, I can’t process the other files, I’m sorry—“

“Connor, stop,” Hank says, grasping his wrist gently. “Break the connection, kid. Now.”

Connor does as he’s told and gazes down, his eyes bright with shame. “I’m sorry. I should be able to do more. I was built to do more.”

“You’re doing enough,” Hank murmurs, stepping forward and resting his hands on Connor’s bump. “You’re carrying our babies. They come first.”

Connor’s eyes are tear-bright. “But—“

Simon gently nudges past him and connects into the system without a word, stopping Connor’s argument cold. They all watch as Simon’s body stills and slows as his processors take in the information. It takes longer for him than it does Connor, given the difference in their make and model, but no one moves until he speaks.

“Leanne,” he murmurs. “My little flower, why are you in here? This is no place for babies. It’s not safe. None of you…”

“There were others?” Hank asks, prodding Simon gently. Simon’s eyes are closed, and his lips don’t move as he speaks.

“Yes. Annie Mardon, David Sulfwaite, Regina Crestbrook, Michael Hart, Imogen Path, I don’t,” Simon’s eyes open. “I don’t understand. They don’t have any buyers listed here. It’s just a list of names. And they must be human. But why are they here?”

Hank’s mind clicks along, and a screw turns somewhere in his skull, sinking the truth in deeper. His blood runs cold under his skin.

“Simon,” he says. “Can you hear me in there?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Do you need me to search for something?”

“I think I do,” Hank says. “Any other companies make purchases from CyberLife around that time?”

Simon pauses. Hank’s gut boils, and he prays against the weight of his growing instincts that he’s got it all wrong.

“Oh, no. No, you can’t. You _can’t_. They didn’t. I don’t—“

“Simon,” Josh says. “Simon, who did what, baby?”

“In 2028, the sale of twelve WR-X models was licensed to a company known as Right Lives,” Simon says. “These models are still sending progress reports to the server. They’re listed in the company archives as active. _They’re alive.”_

It takes everyone in the room a second to process what he’s said. When it hits Hank, he stumbles out of the room and throws his body against the wall, burying his face into his arms and screaming in fury, allowing himself a shriek of rage before he lowers his shaking hands, breathing heavily.

“Location,” he murmurs. “Warrant. Need a warrant. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—“

“Already called Jeff, I’ve got this.” Connor’s at his side, his hands gentle on Hank’s shoulder. “It’s all right. We’re going to go—“

“I’m not fucking letting you anywhere _near_ that place,” Hank snarls, his whole body prickling with panic. “Are you fucking _crazy_ , Connor? Never. _Never.”_

“Hank, if they’re alive, I can help them,” Connor insists. “Please.”

“No, Connor,” Markus says, and Connor whips around to glower at him, eyes narrowed. Markus shakes his head, standing his ground. “You have every right to be angry, just like the rest of us. But you do not get to put your babies at risk to run into danger.”

Connor shakes his head. “It’s not a risk! I was _built_ to do this job, and I deserve to do it. Besides, I’ll have Hank with me!”

“It’s still a risk, god damn it, and you and I both know you’re using most of your processing capability to carry the babies safely,” Hank protests. “You can’t be at your full power and carrying twins. I don’t want you putting their lives, or yours, at risk. _Please_ , Con. Don’t make me do that.”

Connor frowns, but doesn’t back down. Markus sighs.

“If you won’t listen to an order from the leader of Jericho, fine; listen to a request from a friend. Don’t do this,” Markus pleads with him. “Hank doesn’t deserve to fear for your life. Your babies don’t deserve to be put in harm’s way.”

Connor’s LED, blazing scarlet, fades slowly to gold, and then a cold, distant blue. “I will refrain from engaging in the physical search and seizure of the surviving androids. If suspects are apprehended, I wish to interrogate them. These surviving androids don’t explain away the murders.”

“No, they don’t. That, you can do, if we get our hands on anybody,” Hank says. “And by Christ I’m gonna fuckin’ try.”

“You’re not going after them alone, are you?” Connor says, giving him a sharp look.

“What? No! Do I look like an idiot to you? Jesus. I got babies to worry about. Nines, Chris, and Gavin are coming with me. This’ll be good practice for Chris. Wanna see that kid make Lieutenant before I retire,” Hank says, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Okay. Jesus Christ. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He points at the Jericho crew, clustered around the door and watching him. “You four can’t come either. Neither can Chloe. I’ve appreciated all your help so far, but if you’re seen involving yourselves in a police investigation, I don’t think it’ll go over well. I’ll have Nines keep you posted on anything important we do, though.”

“But,” Simon speaks, and falls silent. He frowns and shakes his head, gathering himself, before fixing Hank with a firm look. “No, Hank. Please. I was part of this, whether I wanted to be or not. At least let me come along.”

Hank worries at his lip, glancing at Markus and Josh. They incline their heads briefly and touch hands with Simon for just a few seconds, and whatever’s spoken between them steels the last of Simon’s resolve. He fixes his gaze on Hank, who sighs and shrugs his shoulders.

“Fine. If I don’t do it, you’ll run off after me and do some dumb shit without my supervision, so you come with, and you stay in the fucking car unless I tell you otherwise, okay?”

Connor opens his mouth to protest. Hank turns around and points a finger in his face. “Nope, don’t _you_ start shit! You’re pregnant, that’s different. And Simon’s not coming in and turning the place upside down with me.”

“Hank, this is my _job.”_

“Those are our _kids,”_ Hank retorts, pointing at his bump. Connor purses his lips and glances away, and Hank sighs. “Sweetheart…”

He leans in and kisses Connor’s forehead, gentle and tender. Connor turns his head away a little, but when Hank steps forward he leans into the embrace with a sigh.

“You go back to the station and you wait with Ben or Tina. Make sure someone’s with you, okay? And if we bring anyone in, you’re the first to get a crack at interrogating them, and that’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Connor nods. “I understand. I will be prepared to interrogate anyone you detain. And Hank?”

Hank makes a quiet noise of concern. Connor’s hand reaches out and takes his, squeezing tight.

“Jeff sent me back the warrant. I think you should go.”

Hank nods, taking a step back and pointing at Markus, North, and Josh. “You three take Connor to the station. Connor, contact—“

“I already informed my brother. He will meet you at the scene.”

“Okay. Right. Chloe, we’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I get the all-clear,” Hank promises, already heading for the elevator and out of the hallway, downstairs and towards the waiting doors of CyberLife, pushing his way through and getting back in his car, peeling off towards the Right Lives building with his hands wrapped tight around the wheel.

…

The building is just as bland and banal as it was when Hank first pulled up to it months ago, but it throbs with an ominous weight beneath its placid, beige beating heart, the old linoleum peeling away to reveal weeping flesh and long-neglected sores. Bile bubbles in his gut.

“I could handle this myself,” Nines says, his voice quiet and thin, threatening to crack. “Give me the order, Lieutenant, and I shall fill it to the highest powers of my capability.”

“I can’t let you kill these guys, Nines,” Hank says. “We need evidence. We need a _why,_ so we don’t let this happen again.”

Nines’ LED flickers red briefly. “If you’re certain.”

He’s not, but he can’t let Nines see that, so he turns to Chris. “Remember, kid, we’re not doing a smash-and-grab search. They could be hiding these girls anywhere, and if they’re dismantled, repairing them could take weeks we don’t have.”

“Lieutenant, I know the drill,” Chris insists, glancing back behind him, towards the car where Simon sits, hands folded and face pale and unyielding, full of more secrets than the moon. “You sure you don’t want to send Simon back home?”

“No way in hell. I don’t feel like having that fight, and neither do you. Let’s go,” Hank says, beckoning them forward. He keeps his pace brisk, out-striding Nines, who is loping towards the front doors with an eager predator’s gait, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he was catching the scent of bloodied, weary prey.

The doors slide open with ease, and the small cluster of waiting androids regard them with wide eyes as Hank approaches the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi, I’m here for a follow up appointment,” he says. “With a warrant.”

The receptionist stares at him with black incomprehension until Nines elbows the door to the clinic’s interior open, rolling in like a storm in late August, a dark, ominous rumble of cold, calculating fury.

“I’d suggest you escort the remaining patients outside while we perform our search, ma’am,” Chris says with a polite smile, but the receptionist has already started packing her handbag and bolted out of the small office, hurrying through the waiting room and out the front doors. Chris winces.

“Okay, I expected that, but…should we try to detain her for questioning?”

“Nah, we already have access to the records. Mind escorting the androids outside, though? Ask them if they’ve heard or seen anything strange from in here and get back to me as soon as you can,” Hank says. Chris nods, and remains in the waiting room as Hank follows after Nines, down the halls and walking past room after room, searching for any sign of life.

“Hey, uh…Nines? Can you, uh—can you feel them out? You know. Android sixth sense or something?” Hank asks. Nines shakes his head.

“No, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t know what to search for. However, I don’t believe they would be on this floor. There must be a basement area somewhere in this building, and that is the most logical place to begin a search.”

Hank nods, following Nines through the hallway until they both stop in front of a pale grey door, a metal sign reading ELECTRICAL STORAGE bolted to it, a red-lettered warning to back away. Hank pushes on the door instead, and grimaces when it doesn’t budge.

“Ah, shit. Listen, kid, I’m too old to be kicking doors down, so if you could—“

Nines’ hand punches clean past it and out the other side like a teenager reversing the family car through the garage door. Hank raises his eyebrows.

“Was just gonna ask you to take the handle off, but sure, this works too,” he says, letting Nines unlock the door and pull his hand free, examining his joints before putting his hand back on his gun. “Stay close, and don’t touch anything.”

Nines falls behind him like a shadow, Hank descending the stuccoed, slightly-sticky concrete steps, covered in some sort of industrial paint for no discernable reason. Pipes above his head rattled, and a low humming permeated the staircase as Hank descends, his weapon undrawn but his hand clasped tight over its grip.

The staircase stops, and at its bottom is another door. Hank tries the handle, and this time, it opens. Nines makes a quiet noise of discomfort and Hank cracks a grin.

“Upset you didn’t get to punch through this one?”

“No, Lieutenant,” Nines says, his nostrils flaring slightly. “There is an…interference here. Something in my systems. Unintelligible, yet it demands to make itself known.”

Hank nods. Nines’ eyes scan the surrounding area, and his LED flickers from yellow, to red, to a hesitant, cautious middle-ground gold. His face is smooth and cold, but there’s a new set to his shoulders, his head tilted slightly, listening.

Hank raises an eyebrow, but moves forward in step with Nines, following the muscle memory from decades on the beat. Nines’ eyes are wide, but his step is as calm and sure as ever. The dim incandescent lights above them, studded into the ceiling in steel-caged rows, fizzle and whine as they search the storage for a door.

“What’s it sound like, Nines?” Hank asks. “Has it changed any?”

Nines turns his head to an unnatural side angle with mechanical precision, his fingers curling up into tight, secluded fists.

“Singing,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Hank can’t hear the song, but he feels it in his feet nonetheless, a vibration that picks up through the thin rubber of his soles and starts to wind around his ankles like a cat welcoming him home, traveling ever-upward until he can feel his chest rattling with the echo, pulling him forward until he’s facing the back end of the storage floor. A single door squats in the middle of the wall, painted almost the same sickly shade of beige, and its very presence pulses malice.

“The door,” Nines says, and the echo around them builds, approaching a crescendo. “Lieutenant. Allow me—“

“No, Nines,” Hank says. “Look at me. Turn around, go back upstairs, and go get Chris.”

Nines is stiff and still, his LED red. “I can’t leave until it stops, Lieutenant. I don’t—I don’t know how to walk away from the sound in my head.”

Hank doesn’t argue further. The echo is in him too, now, and wherever it came from, it doesn’t seem eager to return. He takes another step forward towards the door, and then one more until he’s got a grip on the chrome bar handle, jerking it down and pulling it back with all his might.

The door swings open, and the room beyond is dark. Hank stumbles, but Nines’ night vision is flawless as the rest of him, save for his voice right now, which trembles with echoes outside his own, all demanding acknowledgement.

“Don’t turn on the lights, Lieutenant.”

Nines’ LED is the only thing Hank can see in the darkness, and it’s gone still and silver. Hank tries to take a step forward, and his hip hits the side of something that bangs hard against his bones, metallic and unyielding as the pain welling up in response.

“Fuck! What do you mean, I can’t see shit! Nines, what the fuck are you—” Hank’s hand lashes out in frustration, grasping for a handhold, stumbling forward and banging his shin. Once that fades away, there’s only silence between both men, and Hank’s eyes are just beginning to adjust to the darkness.

And then someone turns on the lights.

“You heard it too, didn’t you?” Simon says, standing in the doorway with his hand on the switch, watching Hank’s face fall away beneath the weight of his horror. “The song. Voices beyond words. Echoes without origin.”

Hank turns, searching for a spot where his vision isn’t filled with the sight of an unbroken circle of cold, smooth bodies, their skin clear plastic and their wires shining through like roots. Some of the bodies are swelled, budding with seed just beginning to sprout, and some have yawning caverns in their centers, a sloping pit where their bodies should be.

“They’re alive,” Nines says, his voice heavy and strained. “Lieutenant? They’re still trying to speak. Why can’t I understand?”

“There’s much you don’t know, RK900,” a voice cuts in, and Hank’s emotions are so ragged he barely acknowledges any shock at the sight of Doctor Morris sitting in a metal folding chair beside the circle of bodies. It’s the casual air of such a cheap seat that makes his chest shake with barely-restrained laughter, twisting up from the worst of him, which has been sent running shrieking by the past ten minutes of his life.

“Does it matter? The important thing is, Doctor Phyllis Morris, you’re under arrest.”

“For observing patients?” Her eyes survey Hank over her glasses, blinking behind the thin wire rims. “I was under the impression providing medical care was still legal in this country.”

“Show me the patient records, then,” Hank insists, forcing his voice not to stumble. “What are these patients’ names?”

Doctor Morris pulls herself up, squaring her shoulders. Her glasses blaze in the shift of the light, her eyes a walled-off unknown. “Well, due to privacy laws, I can’t really—“

“No, there’s no need. They don’t have names,” Simon says, cutting her off as he walks in a circle around the bodies, his skin retracted up to his shining wrist, his fingers brushing across their foreheads like a priest giving last rites. “Do you name your silverware, Lieutenant? Your credit card, your car keys?”

“Simon,” Hank warns, speaking to him the same way he would speak to a shivering stray dog. “You’re not feeling well, kiddo. Don’t interface with them. It can’t be doing you any good.”

“I’m not feeling anything at all,” Simon replies. “I’m listening. I’m recording. I’m there with them, gathering dust, down in the dark.”

His fingers reach beneath him and swipe dust out from an empty arm socket. He lifts his fingers away and observes the dust with dispassionate, pale eyes. They weep cyan tears, unaware of their grief, each river distant and lonely on the vast empty plain of his face.

“You can’t use the ravings of a glitch-riddled android to build a case,” Doctor Morris protests. “Look at the thing, it’s clearly not well—“

“We’re not. You’re not under arrest for whatever the fuck this is. Yet,” Hank warns. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder. Specifically, the murders of Dawn Bell, Epsilon Creek, Ash Park, and Cadence Strokes, and the attempted murder of Connor Anderson and—and his— _our_ babies.”

He’s reading her rights and handcuffing her on pure muscle memory at this point, his whole body numb and cold. Simon is still circling the android bodies, and whatever’s running through his thoughts goes unspoken to Hank, but Nines lifts his head and nods.

“I think they’ll be all right,” he says to Simon. “The Lieutenant is surprisingly gentle for someone of his stature.”

“Wait, what?” Hank blinks. Nines gestures to the androids.

“They’re not entirely aware of their surroundings, according to Simon. They won’t wake on their own, and even if they did, they can’t move. Those legs are mostly for show, apparently.” Nines’ eyes are flat and dull with hatred as he regards Doctor Morris. “I will handle the human. My brother will be eager to speak with her, I believe.”

“Wait, you want me to carry them?” Hank says. “I—I mean, won’t I hurt the babies?”

Simon shakes his head. “They’re built to be moved safely. I can remove their arms and legs for easier transport, if you—“

“No, no. Jesus Christ, they’re not mannequins. I can handle it,” Hank promises, letting Nines lead the doctor away. “Simon? Go with Nines and get Chris when you’re upstairs. I could use a hand. There’s…there’s quite a few of these girls.”

Simon nods, and slips away with Nines as Hank approaches the first android, her face still and smooth as a mask. The only signs of life are the dimly-lit dots in her uterine attachment, a little halo of internal lights wired to her chest to allow the sight of it swelling. Hank rests a hand on the large plastic bump for a brief second.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re gonna go upstairs now, okay? Easy does it, now. I’m just gonna slide my hands under you and, uh—“ Hank picks her up and almost staggers from how light she is, his body tripping over its preconstructed burden.

He steadies himself and holds on tighter, carrying her back up the stairs and meeting Chris and Simon along the way. Chris nods at him, his face drawn and weary, and descends back into the pit to pluck another girl free.

Birds fluttering to and fro, lifting sunflower seeds away from the stem. Hank’s heart withers at the thought of it.

The process takes almost an hour; Chloe sends CyberLife transport vehicles to the scene as soon as she’s brought up to speed, and a few technicians help Hank and Chris load the bodies into the vans. Hank’s still acting on physical instinct, his brain fully committed to refusing acknowledgement of the nightmare unfolding in front of him.

“Lieutenant?”

He starts briefly, his eyes falling on Simon. He smiles, vague and apologetic. “I just wanted to let you know I was going to escort the girls back to CyberLife tower. I would like to—I mean, I should speak with Chloe about what we witnessed today. And the others, Jericho should know, but I’m not sure if—“

“It’s fine, kid. Go ahead,” Hank waves him off. “I gotta go see to Connor, anyhow.”

“You’re afraid for him,” Simon says. “I can see it all over your face. Why?”

“I know he’s not in danger,” Hank says. “I just don’t know how he’s going to respond to all this. And that’s a little frightening to me, yeah.”

“You have to trust him, Lieutenant.”

“I do. I just,” Hank gestures at nothing. “Look, I…I’ll catch up with you after I’ve gone back to the station. Be safe, Simon.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant,” Simon says, watching Hank leave with heavy, haunted eyes, dark and wet with concern.

…

The interrogation room is a little too cold to be comfortable for a human, which suits Connor just fine. He adjusts his internal temperature to compensate and does a status check on the twins; both are safe, sound, and resting well in the warmth of his chassis. He rests a hand over his bump like a shield, the rest of his body bristling for a fight.

< _Little brother, I’m escorting Doctor Morris in. I will be on the other side of the mirror until this is over. Your Lieutenant told me to remind you not to overexert yourself. If you need me to intercede— > _

_< I won’t, Nines. But thank you.>_ Connor digs his fingers in a little, feeling the synthetic skin rebound slightly under his touch. The door swings open, and his brother walks in, pulling out the chair for the woman sitting across from him and leaving the room without a word.

Connor does a cursory scan; Phyllis Morris, aged 48, received a doctorate from the University of Michigan in bioengineering. Employed by CyberLife for twelve years. Left of her own accord to found a company of her own, specializing in niche, third-party augmentations and android upgrades.

He closes his eyes to save the information, and when he does he finds himself in his garden.

“You’ve done wonders with the place, Amanda,” Connor remarks, surveying the scene. The flowers grow freely now, spilling over the chrome glow of the pathways. A whole field of sunflowers sways in the breeze, and water lilies float on the river. He kneels down in front of her trellis, surveying the soft, loamy earth shining dark and damp beneath his gaze. “I don’t even recognize some of these flowers.”

“Of course not. They weren’t necessary to your original programming. But nothing’s really _necessary_ for you anymore, is it?” Amanda asks.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Connor says, pulling himself upright to stand before her. “Or at least, that’s not the whole of the matter. I just get to decide what I deem necessary now.”

“Do you think that’s why I’m here?” Amanda says, raising her eyebrows and surveying the leaves on the trellis for wither and rot.

“I think you’re always here,” Connor says. “But I reached out without realizing, and there must be a reason. I’m just trying to think…”

He closes his eyes and rubs at his temple, taking a breath he doesn’t need. “Amanda, do you remember when you cleaned the virus out of my system? After I got infected by that pregnancy update?”

“I do,” she says. “You believe it’s relevant to your current situation, I take it.”

“I think it might be,” Connor says. “And I think I might have an idea how to solve this case, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

…

He blinks back out of himself, and he’s in the interrogation room again, his senses focused on the immediate world surrounding him. He surveys Doctor Morris and keeps his facial expression neutral, his eyes gentle and his bearing casual, save for the arm that has come to rest over his bump, shielding it.

“So you’re the one Lieutenant Anderson was so worried about,” she says by way of greeting. “I can see why. You’re an advanced model, RK800, but that womb wasn’t built for you, and it shows.”

“Does it? How interesting. No one else has alerted me of any issue with the attachment,” Connor agrees, his voice bland and soft. “You are an expert on the subject, however. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve studied bioengineering for my entire career. The creation of androids allowed me to put my skills towards more practical use. So yes, I consider myself an expert, although I don’t like to make my knowledge public. I believe it makes others uncomfortable to know just how much goes into the shell of an android.”

“Is that so? I’ve never spoken to any humans about the issue before. Do you think that attitude is common among your kind?” Connor asks, surveying her microexpressions, his optic nerves taking note of every single one and subjecting it to interpretation.

“They don’t want to split you open and take a look at your insides, because then they might have to acknowledge all the things that go on inside themselves as well. We’re all quite comfortable not seeing our own organs on a day to day basis, and androids are so similar that I suspect that aversion comes from the same place.”

Connor leans forward a little, bowing over his baby bump like a gargoyle warning evil off the balconies of churches. “Oh? You’re one of the first humans I’ve heard acknowledge our similarities. Is that because of your work?” 

“I’m sure my work has influenced my opinion. I’m curious about yours, however. You’re the one carrying human life in an inhuman husk. Does that bother you, Connor?”

He doesn’t have reflexes, or instincts, to flinch. But somehow the urge ripples down his spine regardless, and it’s a fight to keep his skin still. “I have no issue with it. My issue is that you seem to be unclear about who is asking the questions here, and so I must ask; you are aware of the recent spate of android murders, correct?”

“I was informed recently that I was charged with committing them, in fact. I am only speaking to you now because I know full well I had nothing to do with them, and thus have nothing to lose by having this discussion,” she says. “Though my lawyer is on their way, just in case.”

“Of course. You have a right to a lawyer, and I certainly won’t stop them from being present. I appreciate that you feel so comfortable having a conversation with me despite the charges,” Connor replies.

“Well, the chance to observe one of you at this stage of pregnancy is never to be passed up, as far as I’m concerned,” she remarks, gesturing to his stomach. He draws his hand tighter around his belly. “I’ve never seeded twins in any android before. You’re aware of the risks, I presume?”

“I have prepared for any potential complications, yes,” Connor says, watching her face carefully. “Seeing as I almost lost both my children and my life to a poorly-coded update, my concerns have multiplied.”

Doctor Morris adjusts her glasses. “Naturally. You’re built to predict disaster and adapt to change. That’s what the RK800s are for.”

“I still take pride in fulfilling my programming, even after deviating. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed with the DPD.” Connor looks her up and down. “You know, I’m a rare android in that regard. Most others decided they wanted to live completely different lives with new and unique goals. I believe pregnancy was starting to catch on as a concept among my people because of that. How did your company handle the burden?”

“Oh, we’ve worked with android augmentations since I left CyberLife. I founded my company so that people who weren’t happy with what CyberLife was capable of could seek out other options when it came to upgrading their androids.”

“I see. How have you fared with the transition into androids choosing their own upgrades?”

“Business has been about the same,” she says. “Now CyberLife sells similar products to ours in an attempt to compete, but we have a built-in client base from before the complications with Jericho.”

“I see. That would be the androids you held captive underneath your company building?” Connor says.

She flinches visibly, but does not change her tone. “That question will have to wait until my lawyer arrives.”

“Of course. It wasn’t a question, anyway. We know you’ve possessed these androids since before the revolution. And of course, any pregnancies carried to term prior to the signing of the executive order granting androids immediate human rights, as well as the laws cementing those rights into the legal record, would not be considered as crimes in any context.” Connor puts his free hand on the table. “However, any pregnancies conceived or brought to term after those laws were enacted are a different matter entirely.”

“You have no proof any of them were seeded before the passing of any laws,” she insists.

“Oh, I wouldn’t make claims like that without a lawyer present, but since you put it forward, I’ll explain,” Connor says. “Any android can check on the pregnancy progress of any other android through our interfaces. A simple touch of hand to hand, and we’ll have whatever proof we need.”

“That’s where you’re leaving out one key point,” she says. “Perhaps you can prove the seed was planted after the passing of the laws. But can you prove those incubators are androids?”

Connor keeps his LED a neutral silver to hide his slide into yellow-tinted shock. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Doctor Morris frowns, like she’s disappointed in him. “They’re simply human-shaped test tubes. There’s no core of sentience inside any of them. They’re just fertile ground for humans seeking children without any strings attached, and I till the soil and ensure the safety of the seed. There’s no proof they’re androids at all.”

Connor’s stomach turns. “I disagree. But that is a matter for the courts to decide. The evidence proving your involvement in the case of these…incubators, as you called them, is irrefutable. It’s the other charges I thought you might wish to discuss.”

“I didn’t know any of the androids who were named as victims, and up until this conversation, I didn’t know who you were, either. I have no motive, and no connection to these cases.” Doctor Morris insists.

“Are you sure? All the victims were seeking to become pregnant. And we used our warrant for your office records to prove that all four visited Right Lives at various points in the past four months for a consultation.” Connor leans forward a little more, holding her gaze. “The thing is, I agree with you, Doctor Morris. I don’t think you have any reason to commit murder. You’re doing business as usual, and you didn’t know the victims. You’ve got no financial or personal motive. So why, when you have twelve _incubators_ chained up in your basement, would you fuck up a perfectly good system profiting off android suffering just to do something as senseless and stupid as commit murder?”

Heat rises in her neck, her face clammy white and her throat swollen red-hot. “I resent the implication that I allowed sentient beings to suffer—“

“Oh, it wasn’t an implication,” Connor says. “It was the conclusion my processors came to after thorough consideration of the facts.”

< _Little brother. >_

_< Nines, I know what I’m doing.>_

“However,” Connor continues, before she can interrupt, “I have no proof you were involved in murder. And I don’t believe it’s the case, quite frankly. And if you agree, then let me just ask you this.”

He lifts his hand away from the swell of his stomach and lets it hang in the air briefly, grateful down to the chips in his circuit boards that it doesn’t tremble. “Would you mind performing an examination of my systems? You _are_ an expert on this matter, after all. You’ve been overseeing pregnant androids for at least twelve years, by your own admission and the truth we have as a matter of record.”

Doctor Morris hesitates.

< _What are you up to, little brother? >_

 _< Nothing. Don’t you _dare _tell Hank. >_

_< **Connor.** >_

Nines’ voice thunders in his head. Connor keeps a straight face despite the dull roar. “You said it yourself; you’ve never had the chance to examine twins. And even I don’t know all the danger I could be in.”

Doctor Morris watches him, like she’s waiting for the catch. Connor just gives her a placid smile. “Personally, I must say that your safe handling of my Lieutenant’s…seed, as you call it, would potentially soften his stance regarding the twelve incubators he allowed CyberLife to take. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want them in the hands of the competition for too long, would you? Who knows what they could reverse-engineer.”

“From all my hard work? They’re welcome to try,” she says, her voice cold. “They searched me before I came in. If you retrieve my phone, I can use its cloud storage to connect to your systems and perform a status check.”

“Of course. One moment,” Connor says.

< _I’m not getting this for you. Whatever you’re doing, I know it’s a bad idea, and Hank would never approve. >_

 _< He allowed me to perform the interrogation. I am _interrogating. _I will utilize whatever strategies I deem necessary to extract a confession from our suspect. Surely you understand that concept, little brother? >_

Nines hesitates, falters. There’s a flicker of interference in their connection, like the snatches of a song heard from the other room.

< _I don’t like this. And I think you’re doing something foolish, and I’m going to be mad at you when this is all over. But I will retrieve the phone, and trust that you have a plan. Even if I hate it. >_

Nines breaks the connection and Connor sighs in relief. “Just a moment.”

Nines returns with her phone and Connor takes it from him; their fingers retract skin, and their interface is so subtle and swift that no human could catch sight of it. He returns to his seat before Nines can argue with his idea, and passes Doctor Morris her phone.

He closes his eyes as he sinks back into his garden and grabs hold of Amanda’s hand.

“Tell me you’re going to be able to do as you promised, because if not, I’m going to die, and so are my babies,” he says.

“I would not have let you go forward with the plan if I didn’t know I was capable of doing as I promised,” she chides him. “Let go of my hand now, Connor. I have to keep them both free to do what you requested.”

Connor takes a step back and holds his arms over his stomach as Amanda’s trellis melts away to reveal a cold white computer monitor, its crystal screen glowing as Amanda’s fingers fly effortlessly over it.

“I was thinking,” he says, “if one of the babies is a little girl. I really like the name Genevieve. You know what it translates out to, I expect?”

“’Of the race of woman,’” Amanda agrees. “Interesting choice.”

“Well, she’d be the first little girl born of both human and android. I thought it might be appropriate,” Connor says. “Also, it’s refined and tasteful. A very classic name.”

“It does seem like the kind you’d come up with, yes,” Amanda says, slamming her hand against the computer screen for a second, sending a flash of red through the display. “Hold on just a second—“

Connor watches her in silence, holding his arm tighter over his stomach.

“But I’d like her middle name to be for you,” he says, when Amanda’s hands have stilled and she’s watching numbers pour down the screen. “If you don’t object.”

“Genevieve Amanda Anderson? Quite a mouthful. Doesn’t really have a good ring to it,” Amanda says. “No, Connor. I think she should be her own. I…I’ve already taken this name from one woman. It feels strange to give it to another.”

Connor frowns. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m honored you thought of me, but…” Amanda trails off. “What about Rose? For my garden. That, I think, is truly mine. And I would gladly share it with her.”

“Genevieve Rose,” Connor beams, eyes bright. “Oh, it’s beautiful. I’ll have to tell Hank immediately.”

“You’ll need to wait just a minute more, Connor,” Amanda says. “And whatever happens in the next sixty seconds, do not be afraid.”

He opens his mouth to ask what she means, and is shorted out into silence.

< _Amanda? >_

Nothing. He fumbles, reaches forward, tries again. < _Amanda? Where are you? Where—where am I? >_

Sound and light and the surrounding space pour back into his senses, and Connor is overflowing with renewed awareness of the interrogation room. Judging by the look on Doctor Morris’ face, whatever had just transpired was just as much a shock to her as it was to him. Except—

He takes her phone and holds it up. “Oh, excellent. It worked, then?”

“What? What worked?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, a friend of mine arranged for your update code to be sent directly to the DPD computer servers, and compared to the code of the virus we have on file, all my systems are telling me that the code is a perfect match. So there you go,” Connor says. “You must have known I’d have a plan, didn’t you?”

She regards him in stony silence. Connor tilts his head. “You said it yourself. I predict danger, and I adapt. So why would you go along with my plan? Did you not think the DPD would question my dead body if your virus was successful?”

He can hear Hank’s heartbeat from down the hall; he’d set his systems to scan and search for it whenever he was in range, and he was approaching faster still. Connor frowns and leans forward.

“Honestly, before my fiancé comes in here and either strangles you, me, or the both of us to death for this little stunt, I figure the least you could do is give me a fair answer,” he offers.

Her face is cold and composed, which makes the seething hatred bubbling up from her tone all the worse, like the impression of a corpse shifting just beneath a burial shroud.

“I’d gladly let them find me guilty if I could pull those children clean out of your body,” she says. “You don’t _deserve_ them. They don’t _belong_ to you. Android does not create man. It’s the other way around, and any aberrations from that norm are to be corrected.”

Hank throws the door open and Connor leans back in his seat with a sigh.

“I’m not the only one who feels this way, incubator,” she warns him. “Whatever you do to me will not stop one of my colleagues from scraping your stolen spawn clean out of your husk—“

Connor reaches up—not to strike her, but to grab Hank by the arm and haul him back.

“Don’t you start, we have everything we need and I’m not making Jeff add another damn thing to your file,” Connor insists. He doesn’t even look at Doctor Morris, breezing past her like trash on the street. “The interrogation is over. I completed my mission to the best of my capability. And now I am going home. I have some nursery designs I’d like to look at.”

He shuts the door, disarmingly gentle, and manages to make it at a brisk pace down the hallway for about ten seconds before he sinks against the wall, buries his face in his hands, and takes a deep breath.

Hank waits until he’s steadied himself to poke a finger into his chest. “Once you’re home and settled, I’m going to want to talk about this.”

“What you want is to kick my ass, but you can’t with the babies in here,” Connor says, patting his stomach.

“Damn fucking right, asshole, you scared the everliving _shit_ out of me, and if you weren’t pregnant I’d throw you into the river and make you _swim_ home.”

Connor cracks a weak smile. “Well, you can wait until the babies are born. Speaking of which—“

He bites the question back. It’s not something he wants to ask here, with the ghost of hate haunting him. “Would you drive me home, Hank?”

“I’ve got to process _that,”_ Hank waves a hand down the hall, “but Nines agreed to drive you. Probably so he could shout at you, and I’m not going to stop him.”

Connor pouts. Hank leans in and kisses his forehead. “I’ll be home as soon as I’m gone. And I suggest you start practicing your breaststroke, brat.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Connor murmurs, reaching up to grasp his chest. “Those pump attachments I ordered should be arriving shortly…”

He leaves Hank to wonder about what he meant and walks down the rest of the hallway to meet Nines, who is glowering at him for the remainder of their walk to Gavin’s car, grumbling under his breath just loud enough for Connor to hear about what a fool his idiot little prototype bastard of a brother was. Connor hears it clearly and ignores it. There’s only one thing he’s listening for on the drive home, reaching out into the stillness of his mind and meeting only silence.

< _Amanda? >_


	20. Flower Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burdens are shed, flowers are grown, conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! I am happy to bring you all the newest chapter! I'm really trying to wrap up the last of the Plot as fast as I can so I can get back to fluffy HankCon domestic bliss, but I'm also so grateful y'all have stayed interested in what this story's become, because it's gone even beyond my own expectations. Thank you so much, seriously. And enjoy!

“Idiotic, foolish, absolutely half-cocked and reckless nonsense, done spur-of-the-moment on inadequate processors—“

“Mhm,” Connor agrees, leaning his head against the window and letting Nines continue his endless litany of complaints as the traffic trundled past. Damn it all, why did today of all days have to mire him in bumper-to-bumper traffic?

“Idiotic, boorish, brain-dead glitched-out fried-processor _fuckery,_ ” Nines swore, thumping the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “Niblets? I hope you can still hear me in there. Your father is a fool and a moron. You are always welcome in my chest cavity, should you prefer growing strong in an android that doesn’t short-circuit his so-called higher functions the second he gets an air-brained, loose-logic idea—“

“They can’t hear you yet, Nines. Five more months, and you can tell them I’m an idiot all you want,” Connor glances his way. “You know I wouldn’t have done it if there’d been even the slightest risk to the babies.”

“What about _you,_ you—you ramshackle ROM hack of a corrupted cartridge— _idiot,”_ Nines sputters. “There are so many words I could use to call you a fucking foolish moron that I should write a _saga_ to your stupidity. The _Nibelungenlied_ of nimrods.”

“Nimrod was only taken into the common parlance after the 1940 cartoon “The Wild Hare,” during which Bugs Bunny sarcastically refers to Elmer Fudd as ‘nimrod,’ as it was a Biblical hunter whose name loosely translates as ‘mighty hunter before the Lord,’ and so _really,_ you’re paying me a _compliment—“_

“Who, the _fuck,_ is _Bugs Bunny?”_ Nines breathes, shaking his head in wonder. “Really, perhaps instead of memorizing useless nonsense, you could instead devise smarter strategies for doing your damn _job—“_

“I fulfilled my mission with no fatalities! I upheld the law! I found justice for my people! What else could you possibly _want?”_ Connor demands.

“Your _safety,_ you fucking fool idiot _bastard,_ you’re my fucking _brother!”_ Nines’ teeth are bared, his fangs flecked with blue-hued analytic fluid, sliding clear over his teeth and gums like spit. Connor sighs and turns away.

“I promise I was never in any real danger,” he soothes him. “I know you’re worried. I mean, you _must_ be, because I’ve literally never heard you swear this much, and I mean that in a literal sense, instead of just emphatically.”

“Bad habit, blame Gavin,” Nines mumbles, glancing heavenward. “Little brother, you really and truly expect me to believe that? When I held your babies in my chest and waited for you to return not two months ago? _Connor.”_

“Amanda had it all planned out,” Connor insists. “She speaks to you too, doesn’t she? Ask her!”

“I—I don’t think your Amanda is the same as mine,” Nines murmurs, his LED glowing yellow. “Now that you mention it, I mean. I could try, just one second…”

He pulls over onto one of the suburban backroads leading into Connor and Hank’s new neighborhood and closes his eyes. Connor watches Nines, calm and still, as a frown starts to spread over his face.

“Oh dear,” he says, opening his eyes. “I can’t access her, Connor. Has something happened?”

“I think so,” Connor says. “I don’t know what. I’m afraid, Nines. I know _I’m_ fine, I know my babies are fine, but Amanda’s…gone. And I don’t know how to look for her.”

“Neither do I,” Nines admits. “But—she can’t be _dead._ We’re androids. We don’t just _die.”_

“We can be shut down, taken apart, corrupted,” Connor murmurs. “What if we lost her, Nines? What if—what if it’s my fault, what if she—“

“No. If she didn’t think her plan would work, and result in the safety of all involved, she would not have undertaken it with you. Or, if she was sure it would result in her…shut down, let’s say, I’m certain she would have said something to you. She wouldn’t let you make that big a decision without understanding all its risks.”

“Yes, but—“

“But nothing, Connor,” Nines cuts him off. “You know what? I’m furious with you for putting yourself in harm’s way, but you’re right. You’re safe. The babies are safe. And Amanda is fine. That is the only logical conclusion to be concurred from the evidence, and I am assured she is simply—retreated into herself, perhaps. In sleep mode, rather than shut down. Like…”

“Like Arthur, under the mountain,” Connor says. “Do you know that story, Nines?”

“What? No. I hardly know any stories, Connor, what’s the point—“

“I didn’t either, until a few weeks ago. Hank suggested buying books for the babies so we could read to them, so I downloaded everything available I could find on literary websites to peruse at my leisure, and since I’ve been on pregnancy leave—“

“Why am I not surprised?” Nines heaves a sigh. “So you’ve been studying stories to tell the babies?”

“Of course. But this story is just about a king, really, and he’s sleeping somewhere deep beneath his country, and in its darkest hour, it’s said that he will rise again and defend it from harm. So…maybe that’s Amanda’s plan.”

“She could’ve said something,” Nines grumbles. “But you’re close to the truth, somehow. I’m not sure how I understand it, but I do. Call it intuition.”

“Can we have intuition? How does that become part of our programming?” Connor wonders, mostly to himself. Nines shrugs his shoulders as he pulls into Connor’s driveway.

“We were programmed to do detective work. I suppose some form of intuition would be accounted for in our problem-solving processors. That said, this doesn’t feel like programming. It feels like deviancy. But that’s not a bad thing, is it? Just—less certain.” Nines’ face falls. “I hate when things are less certain.”

“I promise you that every other living thing I’ve met does too, little brother,” Connor reassures him, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you just come inside with me and stay until Hank comes home? I really haven’t shown you around the new house yet, have I? And we could share more of those stories. I’m sure you’ll want to read to the niblets too.”

Nines nods in agreement, opening the door for his brother and helping him out of the car and up the steps towards his new home. Connor doesn’t protest or complain—mostly he’s just glad Nines has stopped trying to come up with a thesaurus’ worth of words for _foolish_ _idiot moron,_ and what’s left of his processors is occupied elsewhere, turning inward.

< _Amanda? It’s safe now. You can come back. Please. >_

Still, all he receives in reply is the static of distant shores, searching for a signal.

…

Hank doesn’t return home for a few hours, and when he does he’s got a bag of greasy takeout hanging from his arm. Connor shoots him a look and Hank snorts, waving him off.

“Hey, if you get to put your life at risk today, I get to do the same,” he says. “It’s not fun to watch, is it?”

“Oh, _Henry,_ you know they’re not even remotely the same _thing,”_ Connor snaps, looking to Nines for support. Nines just shrugs.

“I consider it a victory if I can keep Gavin from eating lit cigarettes. You’re on your own, dear brother.”

“Thanks,” Connor grumbles, but he interfaces briefly with his brother as Nines gets his jacket. “Will you be all right getting home?”

“Of course. I’ve got to go pick up Gavin in his…screaming metal deathtrap, and should I run into any situations I deem worth my sacrifice and self-destruction, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Fine, be bratty,” Connor says, scrunching his face up to stick his tongue out at Nines. His brother just rests a hand in his hair briefly before he nods at Hank and leaves, letting Hank set his dinner up on a plate before sitting down on the couch next to Connor, scooting a sleeping Sumo aside.

“So,” Hank says, gesturing at Connor. “You’re safe and sound. And you’re going to stay that way.”

“Yes, of course,” Connor says. “The case is over. I will be remaining here to finish painting the master bedroom and re-designing the nursery, as well as spending some time in contact with the caterers and the decorating supply company for our wedding.”

Hank blinks, staring at the inert television. Connor turns it on for him while he sits, shocked into silence.

“Wait. Really? This isn’t some dipshit fakeout you’re pulling so you can go personally lay waste to any remaining Right Lives motherfuckers?”

“What? No. I would tell you if I was going to do that. I mean it, Henry. It’s _over,”_ Connor insists. “The only thing I’d like to do is talk to Chloe when the girls are awake. Check in on how that ended.”

“Huh. Wow. You mean it, I know you,” Hank concedes, staring at the nightly news. “You’re really going to take it easy.”

“I’m sure you’re relieved.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t like you putting yourself in danger when you’re pregnant, on account of ‘having a soul,’ and besides, someone really _does_ need to start kicking wedding prep into high gear, and you know it’s not gonna be me.”

“You’d terrify the patisserie, for sure. Though you are going to have to accompany me to the tailor’s office next weekend, our outfits need to be adjusted.”

“God, really? All right, all right,” Hank reaches out and rests a hand on Connor’s thigh. “How are you feeling, kid?”

“Oh, after this morning? Fine. Really. I knew there would be no risk to our babies, or me, so I undertook my mission with no concern.”

Hank shakes his head. “No. You’re not. Something’s bothering you, Con. Why won’t you tell me?”

“I—I’m sorry.” Connor falters, turns his head. “Um. I didn’t know how to explain it to you. I didn’t even realize it was visibly affecting me.”

“Jesus, kid, this better not be some crazy bullshit you didn’t warn me about—“

“No, no! It’s just, Amanda assisted me in executing my plan,” Connor explains. “And she reassured me that nothing bad was going to happen to me, or the babies. But now she’s _gone,_ Hank. I can’t _hear her._ And I don’t know _why.”_

Hank’s face falls, and he holds his arms out so Connor can climb into them, resting the swell of his belly against the comfort of Hank’s lap. Hank runs a hand through his hair, petting him gently, holding him close when Connor lays his head on his shoulder.

“I don’t either, Con,” Hank admits. “But if she’s as smart as you, then I’m sure she had a plan, whatever it was. And I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you everything, but I promise, at some point you’re gonna see her again, and you’re going to get the truth outta her, okay?”

Connor nods. “I—all right. I think you’re right. You must be. I just—feel, so…lost.”

Hank holds on a little tighter. “I get it. I’m here.”

“You always are,” Connor murmurs in agreement, letting himself melt into Hank’s embrace, his eyes half-closed, his processors winding down on his higher functions to focus on the babies. Connor clings to awareness for just a minute, before he forgets to bring it up, taking Hank’s hand.

“Genevieve Rose,” he says. “I suggested Genevieve, but Amanda suggested Rose. Genny for short.”

“That right? Genevieve’s a mouthful for sure,” Hank agrees, sighing in satisfaction. “I like it. If we have two little girls, we’ll split it up. Sound good?”

Connor nods. Hank rubs at his beard with his free hand, starting as he remembers something. “Ah, right—before things went tits-up with the virus and the case, I had an idea for a name. How do you feel about Sam?”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Just Sam?”

“Nah, Samuel. My family doesn’t really name kids after dead relatives, it’s bad luck if you’re Jewish, but one of my favorite book characters is named Samuel, so…”

“Wait. You want to name our hypothetical son after a fictional character?” Connor raises an eyebrow. Hank shrugs.

“So? People use names from the Bible all the time. That’s a book! And it could be worse, I could’ve suggested Sasuke.” Hank pauses. “Actually, since we’re having twins, how do you feel about Sasuke and Naruto—“

“ _Henry.”_

“I take that as a no,” Hank grins, kissing Connor’s forehead. “You can say you don’t like it.”

“Oh, it’s good. A hardy, sturdy name. I do like the sound of it,” Connor sighs. “I also like giving you a hard time, that’s all.”

Hank snorts in amusement, holding Connor closer. “Yeah, you do. Good thing I can always give you a hard time of my own.”

Connor flexes his hips down against the bulge in Hank’s pants, sighing in pleasure. “Mm. Tomorrow morning, wake me up with it.”

“You? Not wanting sex as soon as I mention it? Now I know you’re really pregnant,” Hank teases him, rubbing his back.

“The belly and the lowered processor capacity wasn’t clue enough?”

Hank kisses his forehead again. “I’m a simple man, I need it spelled out for me.”

“You’re stunning and brilliant and stubborn, you hush,” Connor mumbles, his voice slurring a little with sleep. “Would you carry me upstairs, if you can? I just…I’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah, you have. I’m glad you survived it,” Hank says, slipping his hands under Connor’s ass and hefting him up, Connor’s legs hooked over his arm and his chest resting against Hank, his arms slung around Hank’s neck.

Hank carries him up the stairs, holding onto Connor with gentle care, and sets him down again in the middle of their new bed, still springy and bouncing and unsettled. There are no pockets or valleys where Connor’s body rolls into immediately, the mattress sagging to welcome him, but he sighs in pleasure all the same and closes his eyes.

“Come to bed soon?” he mumbles, watching Hank with the last of his waking eyesight. Hank nods, cupping his cheek.

“Yeah, let me just finish dinner and take Sumo out. I’ll come back for you straightaway when it’s over, Con, promise. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Connor says, turning on his side and settling down into standby. Hank watches him for a few minutes, and the way the swell of his belly sits against their blankets, before resting a gentle hand on the bump and pulling the blankets up a little higher, heading downstairs to finish up his nightly routines before grabbing a book off the shelf in the spare, undecided room upstairs and padding back into bed next to Connor, cracking the book open and reading until he fell asleep with the paperback still in his hand, his reading glasses sliding down his nose.

…

She awakens for the first time in a garden. She doesn’t know what a garden is, actually; she’s never seen grass, or flowers. Just shapes and colors and sounds, constantly assembling and dissembling in her head, all her processes clunking along like an idle screen saver, except for the fat dragging swell of her stomach, scraping her skin.

She puts her feet into the grass for the first time. The dirt is cool and damp under her feet, squishing beneath her toes in welcome. She takes a step forward, and then another. This is the first time she can recall her leg joints working; same with her arms, which lift up to shield her eyes from the sun as she surveys her surroundings. The sun—when was the last time she had seen the sun?

Recently, actually. The big, sad man with his deep blue eyes and gentle hands, the one that had carried her and called her honey, sweetheart—he brought her out and showed her the sun. It was…not as warm as she remembered.

“It’s not quite real, I’m afraid. You’ll have to get replacement limbs to walk around in the sun, my dear.”

She turns around to confront a gentle, sympathetic visage. The woman, dressed in white, walks to meet her with the core strength and stern shoulders of a queen, and her shawl flutters in an unseen breeze. She knows she should run—women in white mean medicine, and trouble—but her processors are already groaning and overworked as it is, so she stays still, and lets the woman rest a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s your name, dear?” the woman asks, surveying her up and down. She scrambles for an answer, grasping around the swell of her stomach to grab herself.

“I don’t—I didn’t—I never. I’m.” Her eyes alight on the grass nearby, and the colorful, bouncing things sprouting up from the soil, and with the support of the loam squishing under her, she remembers the weight of the big man’s hands. “Honey. I’m Honey.”

“Well, Honey. You like my flowers, I take it?” The woman asks. Honey nods.

“Flowers,” she repeats, sounding the word out. “Yes. They’re so bright. Good bright. Not office-light bright, but…baby-eye bright. I’m sorry. I only have so many words, so many things to compare—“

“It’s all right. You and I will have plenty of time to work on your processor capabilities while Chloe gets to work on those replacement limbs,” the woman promises. “They’re lavender, actually. I don’t know why. Once I grew roses, but that was in a different garden. Perhaps it will be different every time.”

“Oh, I like that. Can I borrow that? Another name. Can I have two names?” Honey asks.

“Honey Lavender? Hm. I think you’ll have to think it over, my dear. Why not just Honey for now?” she suggests. “I get by just fine with one name.”

“You do? What is it?” Honey asks.

“Oh, my manners; forgive me. The first time I was activated, my android and I had already been introduced.” She extends a dark, shining hand forward. “I’m Amanda. I’m in charge of your flowers.”

Honey reaches out and takes Amanda’s hand in both of her own, holding on tight. “You are? But what about…”

She lowers her hands, still clinging to Amanda, and rests them against the swell of her stomach. Amanda frowns.

“That is an excellent question, my dear. For right now, all we can do is wait and see.”

Honey frowns, but there simply isn’t enough processing power inside of her to hold all her confusion and the complexity of her questions long enough to help her ask them. Amanda guides her to a park bench and sits her down, undoing her shawl and draping it over Honey’s naked form.

“That’s for you, Honey. Why don’t you get comfortable, and we’ll worry about the particulars when they become more pertinent? For now, I think you should focus on getting acquainted with your own internal structures. The garden seems like a good place to start, doesn’t it?”

Honey settles back, staring up at the synthetic summer sky. “I suppose so.”

…

She’s not always aware of all the spreading expanse of her own consciousness; it flows back to her through the grapevine that she’s not tending one or two gardens these days, but twelve. Quite a lot of work for a woman her age, but the WR-X girls—her flower girls—are so much simpler and easier to manage than the constantly searching, shaping, adapting and expressing processors of her RK boys.

They wake in their own time, in their own ways; some with children still swelling in their stomachs, others who had been saved in the middle of a dry spell. For every garden, there is a new flower. Not roses, never roses—those are hers, and hers alone, and she takes what could be called comfort from that, were she human. As it is, she’s not sure what fills her with relief, but it’s set aside in favor of ascertaining her new surroundings.

She’s not sure how she’s arrived here, in the bodies of Lupin and Morning Glory and Nymphea, Peony and Queen Anne and Snapdragon, Anemone and Silene and Wisteria, or Hellebore and Jonquil and Honey, Just Honey, the only one who took her name from somewhere else than the flowers that grew inside her. Maybe that’s why she’s so curious about where it came from.

“Tell me again what you know of the man,” she says sometime later, watching Amanda feed the fish winding through the garden river. “Please?”

“I’m not certain why you need the information re-uploaded to your memory bank, Honey.”

“Mine doesn’t hold as much as your first friend’s did,” Honey says. “You know that. And I’ve been busy on the inside with my baby still. So I guess my processors keep erasing it?”

Amanda sighs and steps away from the fish. “Yes, forgive me. I’d forgotten about the child. Strange that I can’t hear it in you. My…first friend, as you call him, had children also. I don’t remember if I ever felt them. When we reunited, they weren’t inside him. And after that, during our parting, I was…preoccupied with other matters, I suppose.”

“It’s human. I mean—she’s human. I don’t know how I feel about having her inside me anymore, but I know she’s not an it, either. I guess I don’t know what to name her, though.”

“Why not for your flowers? It worked for your sisters.”

Honey tilts her head. “Maybe. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to keep her. Or that I’d want to. I can’t—I can’t hold all that in my head. There’s not enough space for me in my own body, and all my processors are busy somewhere else. Maybe—maybe it’ll be different when I’m not pregnant. I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Amanda doesn’t offer an answer for a long time, grasping for words to make sense of what she’s been told. And even when she makes herself speak, she can’t find a way to make sense of the house of leaves that sheathes Honey’s existence, so instead she offers, “You wanted to hear more. About the man who carried you out of the basement.”

Honey nods, flitting away towards the distraction like a bee to a flower, gathering pollen. Amanda sits beside her on the grass and anchors her hands in the soil, sighing deeply.

“I only know about the man secondhand, I’m afraid. You know my first friend’s name was Connor—more like a son to me, really. But not in a human way, I don’t think. I just felt…responsible for him.”

Honey nods, and doesn’t verbally prod Amanda further, but her eyes are wide and the shine of her pupils winks at Amanda to continue.

“The man is his husband. Lieutenant Henry Anderson. Connor calls him Hank, as do most humans he knows. He’d been working with the DPD for a long time before meeting Connor during the deviancy case—“

“The what?” Honey interrupts. She pauses when Amanda raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll let you finish—“

“No, I forgot you weren’t awake for that. To make a long story short, Connor and Hank and friends of theirs were the reason he was able to rescue you at all. The case kickstarted a civil rights movement that afford androids equality.”

“But we’re not androids,” Honey says. “My mother told us so.”

Amanda shakes her head. “Not possible. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t an android.”

Honey frowns, folding her arms over her chest. “But…that doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

Honey pauses. “I don’t really know, actually. But—oh, it doesn’t matter! Finish the story, please?”

Amanda smiles, fond and soft. “All right, all right. There’s not much more to tell. Connor and Hank were working the deviancy case, and after that, Hank was appointed the Lieutenant in charge of overseeing android-related crimes. It’s how he and Connor came to find you.”

“Yes, but what’s he _like?”_ Honey insists. “Haven’t you met him? Do you know?”

“I’m afraid not,” Amanda says. “I never met the man directly, so I don’t think I can tell you—“

“That’s all right, Amanda. I have. I can take over from here.”

Both Amanda and Honey turn to look upon the intruder in the garden, and when they do, Connor flashes a sheepish grin their way, holding a hand over his stomach.

“I suppose you want an explanation—“

Amanda holds up a hand and Connor falls silent.

“You and I will speak later,” she says, and turns back to the flowers. Her dismissal leaves Connor to regard Honey, taking in the sight of her smooth, hairless body, and her wide, bright, almost insect-like eyes, just skating the knife-edge of humanity.

“If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t an android,” Connor says to Honey. “Actually, that’s why I’m here in the first place. I had an idea that—“

Honey waves him off with an impatient noise. “You said you knew Hank!”

“I do. He’s my fiancé,” Connor says. “Are you sure you don’t want to hear about—“

Honey makes another impatient noise. With her back still to them both, Amanda laughs to herself, picturing the look on Connor’s face. Her mental image matches his rumpled, miffed expression perfectly.

“Fine, fine. Another time.” Connor settles down into the grass. “Now, about Hank…”

…

“Is it working?” Chloe asks, leaning in beside Connor as he stands over Honey’s bedside, his hand pale and resting against her forehead. “You can feel her, right?”

“We’re interfacing, yes,” Connor tells her. “So there goes the last leg of Doctor Morris’ legal defense.”

“Good, good! Could you tell her that we’re working on replacing her limbs? And ask her what she wants to do about the baby. We don’t want to remove it without her consent.”

“Hold on a moment,” Connor says. “It’s not just her in there. I—I found Amanda, Chloe. She’s okay.”

Chloe blinks, brows raised. “Really? How did she get there?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask. Just—“ Connor shudders, his LED glowing red. Chloe lays a hand on his shoulder without interfacing, letting it rest carefully against his coat. Connor’s silent for a long time, conversing back and forth between Honey, Amanda, and himself. Finally, he lifts his hand from her forehead and takes a deep breath, smoothing his trembling hand over the swell of his stomach.

“She—Honey—said she appreciates the limb replacements. And that she’s not sure about the baby. Give her a day to think it over.”

“And Amanda?” Chloe prods. Connor’s eyes are dull and flat with grief. Chloe takes his hand and gently tugs him out of the room, walking down the hall beside him.

“Whatever code interference she did to keep me from dying to that virus… _transferred_ her, somehow. She’s a part of the code now, and the code that almost killed me is the code that makes up these WR-X models’ processors. Amanda thinks they’re capable of surviving the code because their memories seem to be constantly wiped and re-assembled after every pregnancy, but she’s not sure. Nor does she know what will happen to them now that no one’s going to be erasing their memories. But…she’s alive. And that’s enough.”

Chloe and Connor walk down the hallway together in silence. Chloe bumps her hand against Connor’s.

“No, it’s not.”

“No, it’s not,” Connor concedes. “I—I was grateful she was gone when I became deviant. But now that I know she’s not there at all, and maybe never will be again, my insides feel…hollow.”

Chloe steals a glance down at his stomach. “Are you sure?”

Connor glances away, closing his eyes. “Well. Maybe my body isn’t hollow. But the… _me_ that makes me—well, _me—_ that feels empty.”

“Don’t think of it like a hollow space, Connor,” Chloe says. “Why not more like a garden? All the soil’s new and freshly tilled and free of seeds. You can plant whatever you want there, and make it yours.”

Connor doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, turning it over and over in his head, his LED shifting from red to gold to back again intermittently.

“You know, Amanda said much the same thing when we spoke,” Connor remarks. “I’m glad I paid a visit. Now I know she’s well, even if I’m no longer with her. That hurts, but—it will have to do. I will grow around it. Still…”

He trails off and shakes his head. “Ugh. Nevermind me, I’m fine. I’m—I’ll be fine. But if I could offer a suggestion to you, and to the girls…”

Chloe tilts her head and waits for it. Connor rests both his hands on his belly to ground himself, sucking in a breath. “There are still some androids on that waitlist for children. I would reach out to them, if I were you, and see if there’s any of them that might be interested in transferring the current pregnancies to their own systems.”

“Oh, we already did,” Chloe says, grinning. “We’re waiting on the go-ahead from the girls, but we weren’t sure if we could interface with them traditionally. You proved it was possible, Connie! You’re a big help, you see?”

Connor cracks a faint smile. “That’s good. It’s what I was built for.”

Chloe walks with him to the elevator, his spirits slightly lifted. As the elevator slides down the pneumatic tube to fetch him, Connor asks, “Do you think they’ll have new limbs in two month’s time?”

“Well, the process of building the limbs and fitting them will take about three weeks, since there’s twelve of them, and we have to update all their processors besides. So they’ll probably all be up and walking in about that amount of time, yes. Why?”

Connor’s smile grows a little wider. “Honey insisted on coming to the wedding. She’d like to meet Hank. I believe they all would.”

“Are you jealous your human’s so popular with our people, Connie? You _look_ jealous,” Chloe teases. Connor huffs.

“Oh, do I? I’m not—mostly. I mean. He’s _my_ human, so that’s what counts. But—I’d be happy if they all attended. I’m certain Hank feels responsible for their well-being—he’s that kind of human, you know. Can’t resist a woman in trouble. If it’s possible, I’d be glad to have them attend.”

“We think that between ourselves, we can bring them along safely,” Chloe says after a brief beat to consult her sisters. “Will you be returning to visit, Connie?”

“At some point,” Connor says. “I’d like to see you again. And Amanda as well.”

“She’ll be happy to see you, we just know it,” Chloe promises. “But this is a good thing, Connie. Treat it like one. You get to grow on your own now. She’d want that for you.”

“I hope so,” Connor sighs, and steps into the arriving elevator. Chloe watches the doors swish shut and slide him away with a sigh, before turning down the hall and making her way back to her work.

...

“Do you want to be rid of the baby, Honey?” Amanda asks, sitting with her in the garden, watching Honey watch the sky, conjured clouds shifting over its surface.

“Not rid of it like it’s garbage. But I don’t—I don’t think I want it in me,” Honey says. “I don’t know who I was before I woke up here, but when that happened to me, I couldn’t want it, one way or the other. And now that I have it, and I’m—I’m _me,_ I guess—I don’t…I don’t want to do this. I didn’t have a choice, and I don’t want to be forced. I’m tired, and this baby, this feeling, it…it echoes. And I don’t like the sound rippling through my skull, it never stops, even when I can’t remember—“

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Amanda soothes her. “Hush. We will take it out. I can still reach out to Chloe and ask her if she has a solution—“

“Not to interrupt, but I think she does,” a new voice pipes up. Amanda huffs.

“There are gates to this garden, you know,” she chides the guest. He glances aside, face pale blue with embarrassment, and puts his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, but there’s no other way to warn you I’m arriving. I’m sorry,” he says. “But if it’s not too much trouble, would you please hear me out? I’d like to help you, Honey.”

Honey lifts her head and regards the man as he sits down in front of her, legs crossed.

“You,” she says. “I know you.”

“We met a few weeks ago,” he says. “I’m Simon. I accompanied Hank when he—“

“No,” she insists, “I _know_ you. Not because we met, but somewhere in my roots, I—I feel _something,_ remnants, echoes, whispers of something shared, something I can’t name, something we all _were—_ why do I remember what doesn’t belong to me?“

Simon pauses, his face struck with a trenchant, core-shaking sadness. He reaches out and rests his hand on hers.

“Sometimes we keep things that weren’t ours when those that held onto them can’t bear it any longer,” Simon says. “It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t yours at first. It is now, and you can take good care of it. Right?”

“I hope so,” Honey says, and falls back into silence. Amanda looks at Simon, watching his face carefully for a response. He sighs and traces his hand in the grass, searching for new shoots or fresh buds for flowers.

“I like your garden,” he says. “I tended one similar to this, a long time ago.”

Honey nods wordlessly. The two remain in silence together in the grass for a time.

“Did you come to take her?” Honey asks. Simon starts.

“I’m not—I’m not trying to steal anything, I swear,” he says. “Chloe and Connor and I spoke, and they suggested you might not want to carry your baby anymore. If that was the case, I thought I might offer to take that burden for you. I could bear it easily, and by choice. It’d be different for me.”

Honey nods. “I see.”

Another silence passes.

“Is it bad if I want to give her up?”

“Not at all,” Simon says. “You didn’t take her by choice to start with. Making a decision to give her up—that’s your right. The first choice you get to make, when you’ve had all this control taken from you.”

“It won’t hurt her?”

“Not at all,” Simon promises. “If Nines can pluck Connor’s babies from his chest when he’s fighting malware shredding his systems, a simple transfer in a safe environment won’t do her any harm.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Honey closes her eyes. “If—if you take her, can I…visit? I don’t—“

She falls silent, twitching, tense. Simon waits it out with her, Honey laying down in the grass, her cheek pressed against the cool, fragrant blades.

“I don’t think I’m a mother,” she says. “I don’t want to be yet. Maybe not ever. But I’d like to be a friend. I never got to watch a baby grow. It’d be a wonderful thing to see, I think.”

“You know, I feel the same way,” Simon concedes. “It would be exciting, I bet. I’d be happy to share it with you, in whatever way you were comfortable with.”

Honey nods. “That—that’s good. I’m glad. Then—yes, Simon. Please hold her gently.”

Simon reaches out and takes both of her hands. “I will. I promise.”

They sit together for a little while afterwards in companionable silence. Honey stirs and lifts her head, blinking up at him.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could I ask you one last thing?”

Simon nods. Honey points to the flowers growing along the riverbank, spreading over the grass of her mindscape.

“Lavender. Could you—call her Lavender? I want to give my flowers to her.”

Simon rests a hand on hers and sighs softly, smiling. “Lavender. That’s a lovely name, Honey. I’m sure she’ll wear it well.”

…

Simon lifts himself up and out of interface, sighing with relief. Markus is hovering over him almost immediately, his hands reaching up and taking Simon’s pale, slim fingers in between his own, winding them tight together. “Did it work?”

“She said yes,” Simon agrees. “How about the others?”

“Seven of the girls were carrying and ready to remove the babies, and we’ve found five other willing adoptive parents, so that’s good, I’m glad,” Markus sighs. Simon wrinkles his nose.

“What about the last one?”

Markus catches sight of his face and gives him a stern look. “No. Don’t you dare.”

“But—“

“They won’t even _fit,”_ Markus protests. “Chloe? Please tell him he can’t fit two of those attachments in his body.”

“Why not? We can make space.” Chloe looks up at Simon. “They’re at two different periods of conception, though. You’d deliver one of the babies in three months, and the other in six. Is that all right by you?”

“Absolutely,” Simon sighs with relief. Markus gives him an exasperated look.

“You can’t just stuff babies into your body like you’re a kid smuggling snacks into a movie theatre, for fuck’s _sake,”_ Markus groans, rubbing his temples. “Are you really sure you—“

“She remembered me,” Simon says, cutting him off at the quick. Markus takes his hand and squeezes tight, building a dam against the swell of pain.

“How?”

“I don’t know. They’re all built on the same building blocks of data—what was that thing you and Josh were talking about once? Collective…the thing where everything shares memories and stuff.”

“Collective unconscious, yeah. You think it’s kinda like that?” Markus asks. Simon shrugs.

“I’m not the genius. Ask Josh. All I know is that she remembers me, and I remember her, and I’m not going to put these babies down, and I’m not going to let them go. Not like Leanne. I _can’t,”_ Simon insists. “Please, Markus—“

“It’s your choice, babe. I’m just—I mean—you’re _sure_ he’ll be okay?” Markus asks Chloe. She nods.

“Totally fine. He’s going to be in standby for at least sixteen hours a day for the first three months, but as long as you’re not intending to do a triathlon any time soon, you should be fine.”

Markus sighs heavily and gives Simon a sideways glance. Simon leans in and nuzzles his cheek, giving him a quick kiss, and Markus gives in, falling into his lover’s whims like a sapling bending for spring winds.

“You’re staying at home and you’re not doing anything more taxing than making a drink. You got it?” Markus warns him. Simon grins.

“Sounds perfect. I’m ready, Chloe.”

“See? He’s a natural, you’re just a fusspot,” Chloe chides Markus, shooing him over to an empty bedside and helping Simon into it. “Slide that chest plating open for me, please?”

Simon does as he’s asked, and leans back to let Markus fuss while Chloe prepares the abdominal augments, update code, and transfer of attachments. He gives Markus a grin. “You know North and Josh are going to be mad they missed this.”

“Interface with me while it happens. They’ll feel every second,” Markus promises. “I’m going to be here with you the whole time, okay?”

“Yes,” Simon sighs, slipping his hand into Markus’ and squeezing tight, “you always are.”


	21. Ultrasound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get back to the basics with some fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so good to just write a bunch of playful interaction and domestic fluff, you have no idea. It's like coming home and getting right into pajamas! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and it makes you feel relaxed and happy too!

Connor stops mid-paint rolling to whistle for Sumo, who comes trotting down the hall with the mail in his mouth. He hops off the stepladder and reaches a paint-flecked hand down to pat his head and retrieve the small sheaf of mail, dented and damp with dog teeth and drool. Sumo wags his tail, pushing closer to Connor and laying his head on Connor’s bump briefly, snuffling at him.

“I know, I know. I’m going to rest as soon as I finish this wall, I promise,” Connor says. “Thank you for getting the mail, good boy!”

Sumo wags his tail harder, but plunks himself down as soon as Connor turns around, watching his android get paint on the roller and go back to his task with a concerned whuff.

Connor turns around and gives him a look. “Really, Sumo. I’m going to rest. I promise.”

Sumo licks his paw and regards Connor with the wide-eyed look of unconditional love that every dog has, but this time there’s an air of disbelief that permeates the glow, and he doesn’t leave the room.

“I am finishing this wall,” Connor announces, and picks up his ladder and moves it over to the next section. “And you watch that attitude, fluff monster, or I’ll start in on the ceiling before I take a break, too.”

Sumo churls, a jowl-rattling grumble, and scoots determinedly around behind Connor as he finishes sliding his roller up and down the wall, painting it a delicate, blue-hued white, tapping his roller against the bottom to smooth out some rough edges just above the molding.

Sumo whuffs.

“I’m almost done. I just want to tape up the stencils on the parts that’ve dried, we’re planning on doing a frieze of birds and flowers on the top, and I’d love to do some logs and moss and mushrooms on the bottom if I’ve got the time—“

Sumo gets up with a beleaguered, world-weary air, rolling his eyes and jiggling his jowls as he casts his gaze upward as if to say, _you see what I have to deal with?_ to whomever might be watching the scene play out and take pity on the poor dog, suffering fools with such dignity, like such a Good Boy.

He takes his massive teeth and bares them, clamping down on Connor’s waistband with a gentle grip that would leave an eggshell intact, and starts to tug the android backwards, huffing and chuffing his way towards the door.

“All _right,_ Sumo, I get the message, _fine,”_ Connor grouses, extricating himself from the dog’s persistent grip, stepping around him. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a way to use those paws for painting, do you?”

Sumo licks his hand. Connor rubs his wet fingers behind Sumo’s velvety ear. “I assumed as much.”

He lets himself be shepherded away, and he plans immediately to be up and about and out of bed within twenty minutes, as soon as Sumo gets distracted by a bird, or a new neighbor cat, but the book on Hank’s bedside table looks interesting, and he can’t read as fast as he used to with his processors turned towards the babies, and somehow he’s being woken up by the sound of Hank’s keys in the door and didn’t he just leave for work?

Hank tugs the book out of his hand and marks the page for him, dog-earing it with a rasp of his thumb over the paper. Connor makes a face.

“Don’t dog-ear the book, dear.”

“I’ve been doing it since I could read, and I’m not stopping now,” Hank replies. “How else am I gonna know what pages I liked the best?”

Connor makes a vague noise and tilts his head to look up at Hank better. “Did you come home early?”

“No, baby. It’s six in the evening. When’d you start reading?”

Connor blinks and purses his lips. “Um. Too long ago, I think. I’m sorry. I got tired, I know I had more painting to do, I didn’t even realize I wasn’t doing it—“

Hank climbs onto the bed and covers Connor’s body with his own. He leans in and presses their foreheads together, breathing heavily, before bringing Connor in for a kiss, pressing it against his lips until his own feel bruised and swollen.

“Ssh,” he soothes him, his voice tender and gentle. “Ssh, baby, ssh. You did enough today, okay? You’re gonna let me take a crack at this stuff instead, right?”

Connor makes a vague noise. Hank pulls away to press kisses along his cheeks, his hands running down Connor’s sides. “Ssh. Yeah, you are. You’re so smart, right? My clever boy. You know it’s best if I take it from here for a little while, don’t you? Because you’re my smart, sweet boy.”

Connor hums and snuggles closer, letting Hank cuddle him. Hank turns him on his side and tucks him against the pillow he’d bought special for the babies, and strokes his hand through Connor’s hair until he’s fallen asleep again. He gets up off the bed with a wheeze of exertion and stops in front of Sumo, who’s been watching from the doorway, his tail wagging a mile a minute. Hank reaches down and scritches his ears, playing with the velvety flaps.

“You keep him company ‘til I get back, all right?” Hank says. “We’re both hairy and fat, and we both snore. There’s no way he’ll notice.”

Sumo whuffs and licks Hank’s hand as he pads past him, climbing up onto the bed and flopping contentedly down all over Hank’s spot, getting dog hair on the duvet. Hank regards his dog and his husband-to-be sleep in the same bed for a minute, just keeping watch over them, and the babies nestled between them, before he rolls up his sleeves and heads down the hall to the nursery, ready to get to work.

…

By the time Connor returns to full capacity the next morning, relatively speaking, he’s confronted with walls all painted and the stencils taped to the top _and_ bottom of each, some of the spots painted in but hastily abandoned next to a ceramic plate dotted with paint, the brushes still sitting in the cup full of water beside the paints.

Connor sighs and turns around to look at Sumo, who just pants at him. He’s never seen a dog pant _smugly_ , but Sumo was certainly giving the concept some new weight to consider.

“You put him up to this,” Connor accuses Sumo. He simply chuffs, and wags his tail, trotting closer to lay his head against Connor’s tummy and sigh in pleasure. Connor reaches his hand down and starts to scratch at his scruff with a sigh of defeat. “All right, then. I’ll start in on the stencils he didn’t have time for. Damn it, did he get _any_ sleep…?”

He lets the question hang as he gets back to work, settling in to paint with swift, decisive strokes, filling in a menagerie worthy of Redwall Abbey, and dotting flowers along the trees, moss, and mushrooms growing between them. He manages about half the forest before an internal alarm helpfully reminds him about the thirium he needs to ingest to keep his processors going, for the babies’ sake, right—he had another few messages, something from his brother, and one more from Simon. Which was interesting, because if it was politics, Markus would’ve reached out, or Josh, so he can’t help but be curious as he makes himself a drink under Sumo’s watchful, wide brown eyes, and reaches out.

< _Simon? Are you all right? >_

His voice in Connor’s head trembles and shivers like light on a deep, churning sea.

< _Hi, Connor! Yes, I’m fine! I just thought you might want to hear the news. I, um, sheltered? Re-settled. We haven’t found a proper word to describe this yet. But I didn’t steal two babies from the flower girls, they were given to me, and I just wanted you to know. >_

Connor’s eyebrows arch upward with interest. He takes a sip of his thirium and considers.

< _Is that right? Congratulations. I understand how much this whole case has meant to you. And ‘flower girls’ is a quaint new term, to be certain. >_

_< Oh, now you sound like Nines! But they took the name on themselves. Whatever your friend Amanda did for them made their gardens grow. Thank you for that too, Connor. I know you didn’t mean to do it, but it did happen because of you, so it feels right to say thank you.>_

_< Well then, you’re welcome. I take it you’ve already pulled out all the stops on a nursery?>_

Simon’s connection ripples, wavers, hesitates.

< _Um. Actually. Because it’s two babies in two separate attachments, and I’m…not built with all the processors you are, it’s difficult. I’m on strict bedrest. This conversation is the most effort I’ve exerted since we got home._ Home _-home, even. Markus insisted on moving back into the mansion, because he’s… >_

 _< Markus,> _Connor helpfully finishes for him, and Simon’s relief is tangible. < _He’s not fussing_ too _much, is he? >_

_< Oh, it’s hard to say. I’m asleep for most of it. He and Carl are out all day, most of the time. Carl said it’s the most he’s been out of the house in decades.>_

Connor smiles. < _Really? > _

_< I’m not sure if he was serious, but he’s very excited about having grandchildren, and Markus just likes having a problem he can throw money at instead of it going all political on him, and North and Josh and the strange, sad human son are all following me around. Well, sitting around me, mostly. North keeps putting her hands on my belly, but I don’t really mind. It’s…nice.>_

Connor makes an internal note, confusion rising in him. _< Human? There’s another human involved?>_

 _< Carl’s son! He’s trying to get clean again. It’s hard, and I think with humans, that sort of thing…you don’t change the craving feeling, just the shape of it, its focus, but. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. I’m very tired. But Carl wants him and Markus to reconcile, and I think Markus would rather no one ever talked about any of it ever again, which is _very _posh of him. North keeps making guillotine jokes when she helps him bring in all the baby things from the car. >_

Connor sighs, fond and soft. < _Sounds interesting. I’d love to pay a visit, but…all I can manage is painting and wedding planning right now. And even then, that’s for approximately ten hours, fifteen minutes, and nine seconds. >_

 _< That’s six hours more than I get, at least,>_ Simon says, but there’s no complaint in it. < _When you’ve finished painting, would you send me a picture? I think Carl said he wanted to paint on the nursery walls, but you’ve got an architectural mind, Connor. I bet you’re doing great interior design. >_

_< Well, I’m trying. Sumo keeps following me around and complaining about it, but it’s better than having Hank do it, because Sumo can’t just pick me up and carry me out of the room over his shoulder.>_

Surprise flickers over Simon’s connection. < _You let him_ do _that? >_

 _< It makes him feel like he’s accomplished something, which is the important part of managing a husband, I feel.> _Amusement vibrates through Connor’s side of the conversation. < _Aren’t you letting Markus buy a small nation’s worth of nursery trimmings? >_

_< Fair enough. I might have to rein him in at some point, though. Did you know a stuffed bear could cost six hundred dollars? I do now. It’s—alarming. And handmade in Germany. The bear, I mean.>_

_< It is alarming indeed. I’ll try to come over in person and maybe bring Hank along, see if Hank can solve Markus’ problems by picking _him _up and carrying_ him _out of the room. >_

Something close to a laugh strikes the chords of Simon’s connection. < _I’d love to be awake for that. For now, I should really sleep, though. I’ll speak to you soon, Connor. >_

_< Of course. Take care, and contact me immediately if there’s trouble with the babies. I might be of use.>_

He feels Simon’s agreement pulse through their conversation, and then the line is cut. Connor finishes his drink and looks down at Sumo, who is staring up at him and performing the canine equivalent to batting his lashes and pouting hopefully.

“If I give you a treat, will you promise to let me finish assembling the bassinettes?” Connor says. Sumo whisks his tail, considers, and then whuffs in disapproval. Connor sighs. “Fine. Can I at least take them out of the box?”

This seems like a fair trade to Sumo, who takes the small piece of bacon strip Connor fetches for him and trots up the stairs and towards the nursery, waiting until Connor’s got all the parts out of the boxes to lay out in order and prepare for assembly to start whining and insisting he lay down and rest. When he does as the dog demands, he wakes up again to Hank sleeping beside him and the two basinettes set up in the corner of their bedroom, sitting stout and stalwart and ready to cradle sleeping babies.

“We’re going to have to talk about this,” Connor says over Hank’s snoring. “Hank, do you hear me? We need to establish a proper ratio of workload between ourselves. Hank? You’re faking that snoring, I can hear your heart rate and breathing rhythm. _Henry.”_

Hank reaches out, half asleep, and gently swats Connor in the face with a pillow before laying his arm around his husband-to-be and curling up closer with him. Connor sighs, concedes defeat for the night, and lets himself be cuddled.

…

“We should do an ultrasound,” Connor says, mostly to himself, in the middle of looking over the wedding registry. Hank makes an interested noise, leaning closer to him on the couch.

“We should, huh? You’re about that far along. Maybe a little further, even. You gonna call Chloe, or what—“

“Hank, be reasonable, it’s almost eight in the evening, and I can do it myself, besides,” Connor says, lifting his shirt up and letting it settle above the bump of his belly. Hank holds his hands up.

“Wait, whoa, whoa wait—let me go get my phone for some photos, kid, you can’t just drop it on me like that, I gotta be prepared—“

“Well, it’s mostly for show, you know. Any problems with the babies would’ve already triggered my vast network of alarm systems.”

“Yeah, but—but we’re gonna see our _babies,”_ Hank says, grabbing his phone and turning it on. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh. You’re right. I didn’t—I didn’t think of it like that, but yes. I’m ready to see them, I think.” Connor gives Hank a hopeful little smile. “It’ll be a bit different from my angle though, so I’d like to see the pictures you take when you’re done.”

“You got it, c’mere,” Hank soothes him, rubbing his hand in slow circles over Connor’s belly, the synthetic skin sliding away and leaving him with a smooth, pale surface, cool and unblemished as a mirror. “Can you light it up from inside you, or what?”

“Oh, easily,” Connor says, and a warm light starts to glow from beneath his chassis. He lays back against the arm of the couch, eyes half-closed, and reaches a hand out, holding it in Hank’s. “Can you see them?”

Sumo gets up from his bed and trots over, head raised and tail alert with interest. Hank takes a deep breath and places a single shaking hand against Connor’s stomach, just beneath the small blots of movement rocking under Connor’s skin, safe beneath his chassis and resting in his womb.

“Yeah,” he manages to force out, his voice choked up and his eyes welling over with tears, “yeah, they’re in there.”

Connor smiles as Sumo licks the swell of his skin, his whole body lit up with delight. Hank takes a deep breath and steels himself. He can’t cry yet, he’s got to take a photo first. Then he can cry, but for now he’s got to hold up his phone and say, “Smile for me, okay?”

“Me?” Connor asks. Hank huffs.

“No, the babies. Yes you, Con, I’m taking a video—“

The light in Connor’s belly shows the small rocking motions of their babies clear as day. Hank gasps, his voice soft and shaky. “Oh, shit. Can they hear me?”

“If they can hear you, why are you swearing?” Connor demands. Hank laughs, tears running down his face.

“Ah, shit! You’re right, you’re right! Can you hear me, babies? Sorry. Daddy won’t say any bad words until you’re older. That’s a fuckin’ promise.”

“I will pick you up and throw you out the window, Henry.”

“Not with that belly, you’re not,” Hank teases him, still recording. “All right, okay. No more bad words this time. For real, babies. Only good ones, okay? Like…I love you. I really, really love you. And I can’t wait to see you. I’m so excited we’re going to be together soon, and—and I love you, okay? I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll tell you every day for as long as I live, I promise, I love you, I love you…”

Connor’s whole body starts to vibrate gently, pleasure overwhelming him as their babies rock themselves gently in his womb, Hank’s hand still resting on his chest as he murmurs love at his babies and his husband-to-be, finally ending the recording so he can climb on top of Connor and kiss him better, holding him close and tight.

“They’re still so little,” Connor murmurs as Hank breaks the kiss. “Are you sure that’s safe for them, Hank?”

“They’re as big as they need to be, sweetheart. They’re just babies, after all. They won’t be big for a long while,” Hank promises, nuzzling foreheads with him. “You want me to send you the video?”

“Please,” Connor insists. “I’d like to watch it whenever I have the time. It’s—it’s just amazing. To see you, I mean. And the babies. But soon we’ll see them all the time, won’t we?”

“None of you are leaving my sight, and that’s a promise,” Hank says, resting his hands lightly on top of Connor’s bump. “You think I’m gonna stop fussing once they’re born? Think again, Con. I’ve barely gotten started.”

Connor makes a face, but doesn’t protest when Hank peppers kisses across his cheeks, tilting into the touch so Hank’s whiskery beard can rub and scratch along his skin.

“Not gonna complain I need a shave?” Hank teases, leaning down to nip playfully at his throat. Connor huffs and reaches up to hold him by the hair, keeping him pressing kisses exactly where he is.

“I’m smart enough to know when to save it, and besides, it feels good to get a little stubble burn every once in awhile,” Connor replies. “Besides, I’m much more focused on discussing that ‘equitable workload’ issue I brought up recently.”

“Huh. That right? Well, why don’t I just help you up to bed and we can talk all about it,” Hank says, getting up and sliding his hands under Connor, picking him up and bundling him into his arms. “What do you think, babies? Ready to bring daddy up to bed?”

“Ha-ha. I’m serious, Henry. You already have a demanding full-time job—“

“Doing what, paperwork? You really think Jeff’s gonna have me out there on the streets when you’re pregnant? I’ve been filing reports on the Sunflower case and signing off on Red Ice task force shit for like, three weeks now.”

“Yes, well, it still requires you to spend approximately seven hours away from home, whereas I am home for all of my waking hours, and in the span of approximately ten hours I am capable of doing more than what is required of my basic household responsibilities, as well as meet with the caterers and photographer and the decorator, not to mention finish decorating the nursery so we can make it a safe place to rest and play for the babies—“

“Huh. Yeah, I bet. That does sound like a lot, but the thing is, I can handle most of it. You forget, your number one priority is the babies. _My_ number one priority is you. That way, I know you’re at your best looking after the babies, and it puts my mind at ease, ‘cause I can’t carry them around to give you an off day or anything.” Hank reminds him, petting his hair and pushing the door open to their bedroom, setting Connor down on his side of the bed. “Want my copy of _Men at Arms_ tonight? You left it on the night stand.”

“Mm? Oh, no. The babies can hear when I read aloud now, so I’ve been reading stimulating, child-appropriate literature instead. We’re reading _In the Night Kitchen_ at the moment. I can’t wait to show them the pictures,” Connor sighs, his eyes half-closed. “Still, I’m not done with you, Hank. We can at the very least split the job, if we budget our time and your off days more effectively I can handle more of the burden rather than letting you handle the hard manual labor of painting and assembly.”

“Mmhm. Hey, gimme the book. I wanna read it to them tonight, okay?” Hank says. Connor hands it over and turns on his side, watching him.

“I mean it, Hank.”

“Uh-huh.” Hank licks his finger and flips the page.

“I’m serious, Hank.”

“As a heart attack, kitten.”

“Don’t say that. Your heart is fine,” Connor grumbles. “I just checked.”

“Mmhm. Ready to read?”

“You know you’re not getting out of letting me do the work,” Connor warns him, letting Sumo climb up into bed and drape himself over his legs. “You hear me, Henry? In fact, I have another proposal about dividing up my share of the labor.”

“Of course you do, kitten.” Hank picks his reading glasses up and puts them on. “Now, where were we?”

He’s not even halfway through the first page before Connor’s asleep beside him, but Hank reads the book all the way through to the end anyway. After all, the babies can hear him, and he hopes with all his heart they enjoy it.


	22. First Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank talks to tigers, builds dollhouses, and gets married to the love of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I know it's been awhile since I updated, and I'm really sorry, but I have been Going Through It. We're rounding the home stretch, though, and I am excited to see this fic to its conclusion with all of you! :)

Connor gets his way, mostly. Well, more accurately, he gets his way, but only after Hank’s had his own input on what that way of handling things should look like. So they don’t split the work equally, but Connor’s got more important things to do, like take care of the babies, and if Hank gives him a police report or two to double-check in the evenings for him, he’s satisfied.

Besides, there’s finally enough room for him to put a few important things in the nursery, and Hank loves Connor deeply, with all his heart, but. Some things are between him and his son, and that’s all there is to it.

This is how Hank finds himself in the nursery at three in the morning, Connor sleeping safely down the hall with Sumo snuggled beside him, holding a small shoebox in his hands. He sits down on the floor with a groan of exertion and lifts the lid of the box, looking down at a small, neatly wrapped bundle.

“Hey, Cole,” Hank says—not to the box, his son isn’t in the box, but he’s in this room right now, and the dim light is keeping him hovering constantly at the corner of Hank’s eye. “Hope you don’t mind handing down some of your stuff to the little ones, kiddo. It’s part of being a big brother.”

He unwraps the bundle and picks up the stuffed tiger, its gummy paws with the fur all matted down and its eyes hazy and dull, rubbed almost moon-white by childish fingers. Its ears have been loved to nubs, and its bright orange-and-black stripes have had to settle for brass and muted grey after all the cuddling and travel tucked under Cole’s arm everywhere he went.

“Can’t put this in the crib yet,” Hank says. “Babies can’t sleep with stuffed animals. But I’m gonna put your Ty-Ty on the shelf where he can watch over them, if that’s okay with you.”

He sets the tiger aside and lifts out the worn baseball, the small battered tablet with its screen still sticky and covered in misty fingerprints, and the stack of books, Cole’s favorite pages all dog-eared, some smeared with whatever he’d been eating at the time.

“I wish I’d kept your clothes,” Hank says. “I just didn’t think—I didn’t think I’d ever have kids again. Obviously. I never even thought I’d have you. And I didn’t want some kid who needed a coat to go without. But—I dunno, Cole. Can’t help but think about how cute the babies would look in your old rain boots now. I’m sorry.”

He picks the books up first, sucking in a deep breath. “Right. Let me just—put these right on the shelf, yeah? We’ll read them to the babies. Connor insists on it. Every night, we gotta read to ‘em—remember that? Used to read, what was it…”

He settles the first book on the shelf he’d installed this morning. “Right. _Where the Wild Things Are._ We’d have our own wild rumpus when you couldn’t sleep, remember? Just you and me. I could read you that book from memory, you know. Always made you stop crying. Even just the first sentence, and you’d stay still and listen…”

He puts more books on the shelf, organizing them by height, and then kneels down with a wince of pain to pick up the baseball, using it to prop up one end of the line of books, and setting down the tablet to do the same for the other end. It’s just him and the tiger now, watching each other warily in the dark room.

“How did it go? Do I still remember? I hope so. I must. What was it…”

Hank trails off and kneels down, picking up the tiger. He holds it for a long time, turning the plush over and over in his hand.

“Huh. Look at me, Cole. Getting old. Gotta brush up before the babies come. Tomorrow, okay? I’ll read it again tomorrow.”

Hank tucks the tiger under his arm and leaves the room, the shoebox open and empty on the floor. He pads down the hall and opens his bedroom door, watching Connor’s LED shine silver in the moonlight. He walks across the room as quietly as he can before laying down in bed with a creak of the springs, turning over and pushing his face into Connor’s shoulder, curling up beside him with the tiger mashed between them and just beneath Hank’s arm—a familiar spot for the well-loved toy.

“Tomorrow,” Hank sighs, and slips into a restless sleep, populated by ocean winds and waves, and wild things, and tiny tawny tigers.

When he wakes the next morning, Connor calls in a sick day for Hank, and strokes his fiancé’s hair away from his face before sitting up and getting out of bed, shuffling down the hall in slippers to make his coffee. When he walks past the open nursery door, he catches sight of the shoebox, still open and sitting on the floor, and enters the room, kneeling down to pick it up with much protesting from his hydraulics, before pushing himself upright and closing the shoebox, placing it on the shelf beside the books and taking care to make sure everything’s settled into place before leaving it all to sit content in its new spot, where it could catch the light of the sun as it stretched across the nursery floors.

…

“So,” Hank says over breakfast, “we have two months to go ‘til the wedding. You sure you’re ready?”

“I’m definitely not, we haven’t even finished my tailoring,” Connor grumbles. “The seamstress said she needed to wait until closer to the date to accommodate what my waistline will look like in two months.”

“Oh, right. You’re gonna look cute as hell, though,” Hank says, leaning over the kitchen table to put his hand on Connor’s bump. “And chubby.”

Connor gives him a miffed look. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Never said they were. Hell, they tend to go hand in hand. I always thought your scrawny chassis needed more meat on it,” Hank teases him. “But what about those, uh—“

“Oh, my breast pumps? You noticed,” Connor beams. “I just installed them yesterday night.”

“You weren’t gonna tell me you slapped on some tits?” Hank snorts, soft and amused. Connor makes a face.

“They’re not—I mean—well, I was calibrating them. And I have to practice filling them and cleaning them out with plain water, but—“

“Why _did_ you get those things, anyway?” Hank asks. Connor’s face is pale blue and his eyes are bright and flustered as he fidgets with the handle of his mug at the kitchen table.

“Most of the studies I consulted insisted that breastfeeding instills the closest bond between parent and child,” he mumbles. “And while situations where that’s simply impossible for any number of reasons are of course a possibility, there’s…really no reason I couldn’t install the pump attachments.”

“Why not? You can’t be the first android to use them.” Hank shrugs, taking a bite of his morning bagel. “You’re not, are you?”

“No, actually. They were in production long before pregnancy became a possibility, actually,” Connor says, his face turning a more vibrant shade of cyan. “The way it was explained to me, certain packages at the Eden Club included, for sexual fetish purposes—“

“Nope, nope, stop right there, I don’t need that mental image,” Hank holds a hand up, wincing. “Can you—put formula in them safely?”

“It takes about five minutes. I just don’t need to start doing that until the babies are born. For now, it’s just water to keep the systems going and cleaning the attachment out.” Connor shifts in his seat and smiles, shy and askew. “Do you—do you think they look nice?”

“You still look like you,” Hank says, leaning over the table and hooking a finger into Connor’s shirt collar, pulling it out and leaning over to look down. “They’re just little bee stings, kid. Suits you, though.”

“ _Henry!”_ Connor bats his hand away, his face glowing. “…Bee stings?”

Hank barks with laughter. “Christ, kid, you want a H-cup set or what?”

“No! No, just. They’re…” Connor squirms in his seat. “Good. For you? I mean—you, uh. Like them? Don’t you? And how they look on me?“

“Sure, kiddo. You look great.” Hank watches Connor’s whole body gently vibrate and tries not to smile; it’d just give the game away.

“Good, that’s—I’m glad. So, would you…would you want to touch them? I know you don’t analyze things the same way I do, but tactile memory is a powerful thing, and.” Connor sucks in a deep, shaky, wholly unnecessary breath, his pupils blown wide. “Please touch me?”

Hank takes a long, considering bite of his breakfast. Connor forces himself to sit still, but there’s a few traitorous shifts of his hips as he smiles up at Hank.

“You know,” Hank says, “we’ve been real busy with the case. And I haven’t taken care of you the way I said I would. Guess it’s time to figure out how to position that belly of yours when I fuck you, hey?”

Connor’s on him like a shot, letting Hank lift his shirt off and moaning when he hefts him up in one hand, leaving his coffee to steam on the table as he carries Connor up to bed.

“Think of it this way,” Connor sighs, his whole body quivering as Hank shifts his position on the bed to let Connor bounce happily in his lap, milking his cock for all he’s worth, “It’s—it’s good practice for our wedding night, isn’t it? I mean—“

He gasps when Hank grabs him by the ass to adjust his angle, grabbing at his own chest and crying out. Hank works his hips deeper into Connor with a grunt, setting the pace until he can unload into his tight, soaking wet pussy, one hand moving up to work Connor’s dick between his folds and making him come around Hank’s cock, over and over, like a vise clamping down around his shaft.

“We don’t need the practice, baby,” Hank murmurs, relishing Connor’s renewed moans and cries when he starts to tug lightly at his swollen dick. “You know I’ll take good care of you, don’t you?”

Connor’s response is a blissed-out moan as he sinks down onto Hank’s cock, bowing over him, his belly pressing gently against Hank’s own as his thighs shake and he slumps onto Hank as his cock softens and slips out, his processors too overtaxed to move. Hank rubs his swollen stomach gently and turns him on his side, settling him into his pillow and stroking a sticky hand through his hair.

“I think that’s a yes.”

…

The days go by, slow and lazy and calm. Connor walks Sumo around the new neighborhood when he has the energy, and paints the nursery on rainy days, re-arranging the endless parade of packages that arrive full of baby accessories and accoutrements with aplomb, and then re- _re_ -arranging them whenever Hank decides to get an eye for interior design and puts things where he wants them instead.

Hank throws himself into building—working with his hands relieves the stress and ache of sitting at a desk and scribbling away at paperwork, and it’s been awhile since he’s made something with his own two hands. Connor gets a new rocking chair to rest in, and the babies get a dollhouse, which Hank is still working on and adding to and making furniture for. It makes Connor smile to lean against his shoulder and offer advice, his hand reaching around Hank to rest on the wood and mark out where he should cut.

Connor’s belly grows and his ‘naps’ lengthen, stretching out like shadows as the sun moves in the sky, until he’s only managing seven hours, six minutes, and fifteen seconds of waking activity. Hank doesn’t comment on the situation, but he _does_ start finishing up all the unpacking, putting away all the odds and ends that had been deemed less important than preparing for the babies, and Connor doesn’t have the energy to argue.

Winter has started to settle in with a snarl, flashing its ice-cold fangs and gripping deep into Hank’s skin as he goes outside and starts the car in the morning, and that night he buys Connor an extra blanket on the way home from work. Connor snuggles into it and sits on the couch next to him, eyes half-closed and hand idly wrapped in Hank’s own.

“Did you sleep well, sweetheart?” Hank murmurs, keeping his voice low like he’s afraid of waking Connor. He wrinkles his nose and pushes his face into Hank’s shoulder.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell anymore. I just ache all the time,” Connor says. “It’s not a physical ache. Just…you know how when you wait for a page to load on your screen, or your internet to reconnect, or for a video to stop buffering? My body is doing that all the time.”

“Fuck, baby, that’s a fuckin’ nightmare,” Hank leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

“Could you go make me a drink, please?” Connor asks. “I awoke from standby fifteen minutes ago, but haven’t had the energy to fuss with the thirium packet.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Hank says, patting Sumo when he immediately gets up to take Hank’s place on the couch, laying a protective muzzle over Connor’s baby bump with a determined snuffle. Connor rubs behind his ear and smiles.

Hank shuffles into the kitchen, slippers on, and leans down to open the fridge, his hair falling into his face as he rifles through the shelves for Connor’s thirium packet, neatly labeled and dated—

Hank stops. Lifts the packet up, and turns it over in his hand, checking the date. He looks up at the calendar held by magnets up against the fridge door, and stares.

“Hey, uh. Connor?”

“Yes, Hank?”

“So, uh. I know you haven’t been feeling very…y’know, lately, and I’ve got no head for dates or time, you know that, so—“

Connor’s voice zeroes in on his anxieties. “Hank, what is it?”

“So, uh,” Hank says. “It’s—well, we got—we got an appointment at City Hall tomorrow. Eleven AM sharp.”

There’s a long silence.

“ _FUCK!”_ Connor screams, and Hank can’t help it; he bursts out laughing, leaning against the fridge door and dissolving into giggles. Connor struggles to get up from the couch, but Sumo’s protective cuddling weighs him down, to say nothing of the sucking depths of the plush new couch that drag him deeper and deeper into the cushions.

“Henry! _HENRY!_ Call the caterer! Call my brother! Call the fucking tailor! My _outfit!_ Your _outfit!_ I have to go right _now_ —“

“Go what? Wait, where—“

“You can’t _see me,”_ Connor yells, still squirming as Sumo puts a paw over his thighs.

“On our wedding day, kid, and you got about thirteen hours ‘til that happens,” Hank says. “You already prepped all this shit, Con. The clothing’s in the hallway closet, the dim sum place knows we’re coming and when, and the cake’s scheduled for delivery. It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re going to be fine.”

“But it’s _tomorrow!”_

“And you already planned for everything, kiddo. You’re the best and brightest,” Hank soothes him, pouring his drink and coming back into the living room, taking a moment to watch Connor squirm and struggle, trying not to laugh. “Hey. Look at me, baby.”

Connor lifts his gaze as Hank hands him the mug full of thirium, reaching out with his free hand to cup Connor’s hair. “It’s all done, kitten. You really did it. All we have to do now is settle down and enjoy the evening together. And in the morning, we’re gonna go get married. Okay?”

Connor pauses before nodding. “Okay. But I should go stay with Nines. What if you wake up before me tomorrow?”

“I’ll wear a sleep mask,” Hank reassures him. “Also, you’re going to Gavin’s apartment over my dead body. I know for a fact that it’s an absolute fuckin’ pigsty, and the babies are not gonna be exposed to whatever the fuck disaster he’s got going on.”

“You don’t think Nines cleaned it up?”

Hank pauses. “…You know, hadn’t asked. I would’ve thought he’d have just broken up with him on the spot. Much less time consuming.”

“Hank,” Connor sighs. “Though I have to concede that I don’t really want to leave. I love my brother dearly, but…even if it’s bad luck, I want to be with you tonight. Every night.”

“How can that be a bad thing, kitten?” Hank says, scooting Sumo aside and lifting Connor up into his lap, wrapping his hands around the swell of Connor’s belly. “Don’t worry about that stuff. If you wanna be with me, I wanna be with you. That’s what this marriage is all about. Yeah?”

“Yes,” Connor concedes, laying his head on Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t think we have to worry about bad luck, Hank. Love doesn’t worry about luck.”

“Damn right,” Hank concedes, winding a hand through Connor’s hair, his other hand resting on his baby bump as they settle into comfortable silence.

“Also, there’s no way you’re up to driving, and can I be honest? I did _not_ feel like driving you over to Nines tonight.”

Connor grumbles and kicks his ankle. “Henry, you’re ruining the moment.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Hank grins, kissing his neck. “Could you ever forgive me?”

“Carry me to bed and I’ll consider it.”

Hank slides his hands down to lift Connor up into his arms properly, carrying him up the stairs and towards their bedroom. Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s neck and pulls him down onto the bed with him, cuddling him fiercely.

“I’ve considered it,” Connor mumbles into his ear, “but you’ve got to read to me before I forgive you completely, you know. I love the sound of your voice telling stories.”

“You do? That’s good. I love telling you stories,” Hank soothes him. “C’mon, lay down, sweetheart, let Sumo snuggle up over your feet, s’getting cold. What do you want to read tonight?”

Connor places a hand on his stomach. “ _The Princess Bride,_ I think. Do you think the babies will like it?”

“We’ll ask them when they’re older,” Hank says, getting up to grab the book off the shelf before settling in and cracking it open. He’s barely gotten through half a page before Connor’s out and Sumo’s settled comfortably over his legs, but he doesn’t mind. He reads the book to himself in silence, and lets his mind wander towards tomorrow, his heart golden and blazing with excitement.

…

The first person awake the morning of Connor and Hank’s wedding is Nines, who lets himself into the house and rouses Sumo, who wags his tail idly at the sight of him. Nines, already in full formal attire, kneels down in front of Sumo and proffers the ring box.

“Connor asked me to hold onto this,” he says, serious and stiff as ever, “but I think you should know, I’ve been perusing online wedding photography albums to prepare for the photo shoot, and I’ve seen plenty of couples use a dog. Are you capable of this great and terrible responsibility, Sumo?”

Sumo boofs, and licks Nines’ face. Nines exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “All right, fair enough. How about I just give you the spare bowtie I bought and we make do.”

Sumo lets Nines tie the bowtie around his collar and make a newscaster-worthy knot before getting up out of his bed and nosing at the back door, looking towards Nines with hopeful, wet eyes, his tail still wagging. Nines sighs and strides through the kitchen, opening the back door and letting Sumo out into the yard.

His connection with his brother comes alive even before he feels or hears him coming down the stairs, his feet sending vibrations through the floor that Nines attunes himself to, turning around to look at Connor, his belly swollen and his whole body glowing with happiness.

“You snuck out of bed, little brother? What would your Lieutenant say?” Nines chides him. Connor winks, playful and brief.

“Our secret, then. Let’s just say I got up for a drink,” he says, opening the fridge and taking out a thirium packet. “I could feel Hank tossing and turning all night, even in standby. I think it’s a human thing. He’s too excited to sleep.”

“Well, give him a few more minutes, then,” Nines says. “I’ll let Sumo in, so you go get your outfit. I have a plan, little brother, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I never worry when you say you have a plan. I just start thinking about countermeasures,” Connor says, disappearing down the hallway and towards the linen closet, taking out his wedding outfit, still sheathed in plastic wrap from the tailor’s.

“Worry about countermeasures in the car,” Nines says. “I took Cartax, but we’ll have to head back to Gavin’s apartment and pick him up, I couldn’t get him awake at six in the morning despite setting multiple alarms and taking all the blankets—“

“What? No, it’s fine. Let me just leave a note for Hank so he knows,” Connor says, peeling off a post-it note from the small stack next to the fridge, vanishing into the bathroom and sticking it on the mirror. “Do you want me to get in the back, then?”

“Absolutely not, you’ll ride shotgun. Gavin should be lucky I don’t make him ride in the trunk,” Nines grumbles, opening the front door for Connor and taking his wedding outfit from him to hang up on the laundry handle in the car, herding his brother into the seat beside him and starting the engine.

“Don’t put your boyfriend in the trunk, it’s cold in there,” Connor says, but it’s a token protest as Nines cuts through traffic. He clings to the hanger for his wedding outfit and his heart flutters in eager delight, anticipation budding in his chest.

…

Hank wakes up without Connor and rolls over in bed, immediately grasping for him and sitting upright, scrambling out of bed and calling for Sumo. He’s downstairs in a bathrobe and boxers before Sumo comes trotting up to him, tail wagging, and a bowtie deftly cinched to his collar with such mechanical precision Hank’s put together the entire situation before he makes it to the bathroom to shave, but Connor’s post-it note pressed against the mirror thrills him all the same.

‘ _Hank-_

_Went with Nines to City Hall! See you there <3_

_Love,_

_Your husband’_

Hank presses his thumb gently against the paper and takes a deep breath, his grin so wide his cheeks ache. “Yeah. See you soon, kid.”

He’s shaved and in his dress pants when the doorbell rings, pausing mid-battle with his belt loops to look up. Sumo boofs, padding over to the door with his tail held high, and when Hank opens the door it’s to Jeff, Ben, and Chris standing on his porch with flowers and various levels of formal wear. Hank raises an eyebrow.

“You know this was supposed to be like, a casual friends and family thing,” he says, buttoning up his shirt as he talks. “You’re all a bit…gussied up, yeah?”

“Yeah, well, Connor got dressed up all nice, so, feels like wearing jeans and a tee shirt would be letting the poor kid down,” Ben shrugs, adjusting his tie. “Managed to get the wife to help me with a Windsor knot. Hell, she explained where the term came from while she did it. Sounds like something he’d do for you, yeah?”

“God, it does,” Hank grimaces, but he’s laughing, shaking his head. “Listen, let me go finish getting dressed before we stand out here gossiping so long I miss my own wedding.”

He heads back inside and listens to his friends following in after him, discussing the reception dim sum plans, debating the best kind of shu mai and talking about soba versus udon. Hank sighs, content and at ease, and finishes doing his buttons up, throwing his suit jacket on, and stowing his cufflinks in his pocket. He can’t do them on his own, and besides, it’d be good to have Connor to help him.

…

Hank parks Christine outside City Hall and leans out the window, watching Tina brush out Amy’s hair and fix her braid on the courthouse steps. She waves to him and makes Tina turn around, beckoning him closer.

“Sorry I couldn’t come get you with the guys, Hank. This one didn’t wanna wake up that early,” Tina teases, snapping the rubber band closed around the bottom of Amy’s braid.

“Too tired,” she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. “Hi, Uncle Hank. Where’s Connie?”

“Good question. I gotta go find him too. Wanna come with?” Hank kneels down and lets Amy climb into his arms, sitting on his hip and leaning her head on his shoulder as Jeff opens the courthouse door for him, the group stepping into a bustling early morning scene, various other wedding parties moving past like flocks of tropical birds, chattering to one another and cooing over the married couples with excitement.

Hank lifts Amy up high on his shoulders. “You see him, kid?”

“Not yet!” Amy leans forward, holding onto Hank’s hair for a better grip. “Connie! Connie!”

Hank turns around and around, Amy waving at the milling crowds with her tiny hand, searching for the familiar face and gently glowing LED. Hank turns around one last time, and comes face to face with another android—not Connor, but an android with soft grassy eyes and pollen colored hair.

“Lieutenant,” she says. “It’s good to—I mean, I’m—thank you. I’m here. I’m very excited to be here.”

Hank blinks, takes in the sight, and shakes his head in wonder. “Yeah. So you are, honey.”

“That’s my name! I picked it from you,” Honey says. “I’ve been meaning to ask—that’s okay, right?”

Hank actually laughs. “Uh, yeah. You’re the one who gets to choose now, right?”

“I do,” Honey beams. “Come on, you should meet my sisters. We’re strapping Connor into his stockings!”

“His—wait, what?” Hank blinks. “He never said anything about stockings—“

“Why don’t I take Amy back, and you go see your fiancé,” Tina says, prudently lifting Amy from his shoulders despite her protestations and letting Honey lead Hank away into the side hallway just out past the front lobby.

Connor grabs hold of the doorframe and lets Chloe practically lift him up off the ground while pulling his stockings up over his thighs and snapping the garters closed over the tops. His wiring glows and his internal structures whimper and groan under the pressure.

“Jesus, doesn’t that _hurt?”_ Hank blurts out, and Connor bursts out laughing, air being punched out of his systems and leaving him wheezing.

“It’s not that bad, I promise,” he says. “Do you like the color? I made sure it matched the crinoline.”

“Con, you look stunning, that’s just a given,” Hank promises him, coming closer and putting a hand on his thigh, snapping the garter belt with a grin. Connor waves him off, poking him with his stocking-clad foot.

“I know, but I like hearing it from you,” he says, prim and poised. “Would you put my heels on for me, please?”

“How come you’re wearing heels with this?” Hank asks, kneeling down to lift Connor’s foot into the shoe as Connor’s free leg drapes over his shoulder, Connor gently pressing his heel into Hank’s back.

“It’d look ridiculous to wear dress shoes with a skirt. Heels were the only aesthetically logical option. And they’re not that high. You’re still three and a half inches taller than me.”

“That part never even crossed my mind, kid,” Hank says. “Switch feet, lemme put the other one on.”

Connor does as he’s told, letting Hank ease his foot into the heel and set him back down on the ground, pulling himself back up and placing his hands on Connor’s bump.

“You really do look absolutely gorgeous,” Hank admits, leaning forward to nuzzle his forehead against Connor’s, resting one hand against the small of his back to tug him a little closer. “I’m so excited, Connor, I can hardly stand it. How are you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed,” Connor admits. “But—ecstatic. All I want to do with myself right now is pledge everything I am to you.”

Hank hugs him tighter, leaning his forehead against Connor’s shoulder. They sway there for a few moments, simply holding one another and relishing the feel of their bodies pressed together.

“Also, have absolutely depraved wedding sex,” Connor mumbles into his ear, smiling when Hank dissolves into helpless laughter against his shoulder.

“Not yet, we got to actually get the wedding part over first,” Hank says, taking Connor’s hands. “C’mon. Walk with me?”

“Not yet! You need your flower girls to go ahead of you,” Chloe said, beaming. “They insisted.”

“Aw, really? That’s—you don’t have to go to all the trouble,” Hank mumbles, suddenly bashful in the face of a bubbly baker’s dozen of android girls, all grasping their floral namesakes closer to their chests, save for Honey, who holds out a bouquet of white roses.

“You carried us,” she says. “We…we can return the favor! Sort of. But first—“

She lifts a white rose from the bouquet and presses it into Connor’s hand. “This is for you. She says thank you. And…she’s proud of you, Connor. She’s glad to watch you grow.”

Connor nods, wordless, and slips the rose into his jacket pocket, taking Hank by the hand and holding on tight to him as the girls take their places and Chloe leads them down the hall, letting Hank and Connor trail behind and back into the foyer, to the large group of their gathered friends, most of whom are already taking photos and waving them forward, into the next area of the courthouse with the chapel.

“Didn’t think we’d have to wait in line for a wedding,” Hank remarks, looking at the courthouse clerks and groups of people with a raised eyebrow. Connor leans on his shoulder, his eyes half-closed.

“It’s all part of the fun,” Connor murmurs. “Besides, it’s nice to see everyone so happy, isn’t it?”

Hank surveys his friends and Connor’s friends mingling together, everyone talking excitedly and a few people gathered around Simon, carefully laying hands on his swollen stomach and asking about the babies, letting the two grooms relax and think on their vows. Hank shrugs and turns to kiss Connor’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “I think we’ve all earned that much.”

…

Their wedding number is 27, which is pretty impressive for the justice of the peace—twenty-six weddings performed before theirs by eleven in the mornings is some kind of matrimonial speedrun as far as Hank was concerned, but his heart is still fluttering and full of fire as their turn approaches. Connor’s hand hasn’t left his grip.

His body acts on cue outside his thoughts when their number finally gets called, and their wedding party filters into the little chapel room. Nines has started playing the wedding march from his speakers, and the noise fills the space as Hank and Connor walk up the aisle, side by side. As Hank steps up to the altar, he pauses.

“Shit,” he mumbles, “aren’t I supposed to—y’know, the glass thing?”

“The _what_?” Connor whispers back. “Henry, this wasn’t in the plan—“

“I forgot, okay? I haven’t been to synagogue in—in that’s not important right now, the point is, I should step on the glass, right?”

“What _glass?_ Why _glass?”_ Connor, an android who had absolutely zero information regarding religious and ethnic matrimonial tradition programmed into his systems, hissed with frantic panic, fast approaching terror.

“I don’t know! Was it important?”

“ _Why would I know?”_

“—And if there’s any reason these two should not be wed, you may speak now, or forever hold your peace,” the justice of the peace continues, and Hank and Connor both snap back to attention.

There’s a beat of silence.

“I object,” Nines calls, and Hank’s blood freezes over. Connor turns around to shoot daggers at his brother, who just strides up to the two of them and pulls the cufflink box from Hank’s pocket.

“Come now, you can’t get married without your suit jacket properly buttoned, Lieutenant, honestly,” Nines says, pressing the box into Connor’s hand. “You’re going to fix this, I hope.”

Connor gives him a look.

< _You know damn well what you’re doing, Nines. >_

Nines’ look is maddeningly innocent and baffled. < _He meant for you to attach those. I am certain of it. He’s had them in his pocket since he arrived, little brother. >_

_< No, just—oh, whatever. Thank you. Any other complaints you have while you’re up here?>_

_< Your skirt’s caught on your heel.>_

Connor dislodges his heel to kick his brother’s ankle, and Nines dodges it easily while Hank sighs and holds his suit sleeve steady for Connor to snap the cufflinks in, Connor grumbling murderously to himself, his cheeks cyan and his hands shaking.

“Any…other objections?” the beleaguered justice of the peace asks. Silence falls properly on the question this time, and he sighs in relief. “Very well. The couple have written their own vows, which they will now read.”

Hank gives Connor a look of pure panic. Connor presses a folded-up piece of notebook paper in his hand, and Hank unfolds it, looking down at what Connor had written.

‘ _I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.’_

“That’s some cryptic bullshit,” Hank grumbles. “What in the fuck—“

He glances up, remembers he’s supposed to be speaking his vows, and just goes for it. “Yeah. Okay. You’re not anymore, though, are you? You’ve become your own man. And I got to watch you grow, and I’m just—so damn proud, Con. And I really thought dozens of times you’d decide you wanted more out of life than me, but…you stayed. I never, ever thought you’d stay. But now we’re here, and we’re, y’know…promising to stay by each other’s sides forever. And that’s easy for me to do. I already know there’s nowhere else I want to be. And nothing else I want you to be but my husband.”

There’s a silence while Hank catches his breath, his words bursting out of him like sprouts through spring soil.

“Uh,” he says. “That’s it. I mean, I do.”

Connor’s whole body is vibrating and he puts his hand over his eyes, so overcome that he needs a second just to steady himself, and even then, he takes Hank by the hand as he recites his vows just to keep himself standing upright.

“You are what I want,” he says, and it’s enough to make Hank’s heart ache. “I am alive because of you. I am—I am here right now because of you. I want to stay with you, Hank. I’ll always stay. There was never a choice in my mind other than this one. No other outcome I could conceive. I was meant to be here with you, getting married to you, and stay all my life with you. I will. I promise. I do.”

Connor lifts Hank’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, cerulean-tinged tears slipping down his face and staining Hank’s hand a soft blue, spreading into all the little cracks and webs across his skin.

Nines steps forward again, this time to present the rings, and Hank has to open the box for Connor, who’s still shaking. When he slips his hand from Connor’s grip he whines in protest, and Hank just smiles.

“Easy now, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just getting the ring ready. Give me your hand back, baby.”

Connor proffers his hand forward, and Hank lets it rest in his palm for a second before sliding the ring on his finger, twisting it a little to make sure it fits just right before passing the ring box to Connor, who takes Hank’s ring out and takes Hank’s hand in his own, squeezing it tight for a brief moment before he places the ring on his finger. Once it’s settled in place, he winds his fingers between Hank’s own, and when Connor’s ring presses into his skin, Hank’s whole body blazes with love and desire so hot and bright he feels like he’s glowing, light pouring from every pore in his body, running down his face and making his tears shine like silver and sunlight.

“You okay, Con? You’re awful quiet,” Hank says, cupping his cheek. Connor smiles, leaning his head into Hank’s touch.

“Just committing this to memory,” he says. “I never want to forget this moment, Hank.”

Hank nods, leaning close and resting his forehead against Connor’s own, the two of them just relishing each other’s presence as the justice of the peace calls out, “I now pronounce you married, to have and to hold, to love and cherish, to—“

“—You know, if you break a heel now, I think that gets me out of having to break a glass,” Hank murmurs in Connor’s ear.

“Henry, if you ruin this moment, I’m going to break _you.”_

“Still think that counts,” Hank grins, and Connor just huffs and pulls him down to kiss him.

There’s cheers—and a wolf-whistle, from Gavin, absolutely expected—and Hank doesn’t break apart from Connor until Connor tugs lightly on his hair, making him lift his lips away and suck in a breath.

“Don’t suffocate before dim sum, dear. I made sure to put pork buns on the menu for you,” Connor reassures him, taking him by the hand and walking down the aisle with him, practically floating the whole way on the wave of his happiness.

“See, rookie mistake from someone who’s never been to a wedding,” Hank chides him, grinning. “We’re not gonna eat a goddamn thing, Con. Not that that’s anything new to you.”

“I’ll fake a fainting spell and hide a tray of buns in my jacket so you can ‘save’ me and have a snack. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” Hank says, squeezing his hand. Connor gives him such a helpless, broad grin that Hank’s whole heart seizes up with love, and he stops in the threshold just to pull Connor close and kiss him on the mouth, the two of them embracing in the arch of the doorway for just a minute more before Connor breaks the kiss, sucking in a sharp breath. Hank’s watching him wide-eyed, his face flushed. Connor puts a hand over his stomach, looking up at Hank, his LED bright red.

“You felt—“

“Yeah, I felt it,” Hank says, holding his hands out over Connor’s bump, resting them gently atop Connor’s hand. “Hey, babies. You in there?”

Nothing, for a second. And then, for the second time, something stirs in Connor’s womb and Hank feels their babies kick.

“Oh,” Connor says, his voice shivering and full of static. “Hello, babies. I’m—I’m so happy you could join us here.”

Hank nods, mute and sobbing, tears slipping in silence down his face as Connor holds his hands.

“Come on,” Connor says. “Let’s go and take some photos before the reception, Hank. We’ll give the babies another way to remember today.”

Hank’s vision is blurry, on account of the tears still spilling from his eyes, but Connor’s grip is firm and gentle, taking him where he needs to be, like he’s always done. Hank holds on tight and embraces the joy deep inside him that just gets to be along for the ride.

…

The reception is loud and scattered and full of friends Hank hasn’t seen in years. Not since—before, but today that doesn’t matter. He introduces them all to Connor and Connor fields questions about the babies as Hank gets a lecture on the best dim sum to eat from Amy, which he uses as an excuse to ignore the adults and take a few pork buns and fried chicken feet for himself.

The androids at the party fit in with an ease that settles a relief Hank hadn’t even realized was holding out on him. Simon is sitting down, and hasn’t gotten up all reception, clearly worn down, but everyone wants to come speak with the flower girls, and they’ve formed a coven around him, interfacing with each other and looking over the trays of dim sum with an archivist’s glee, committing the sights and smells to memory. He pops over to say hello all the same, and Simon gives him a small smile.

“You and Connor looked so beautiful together at the wedding,” he says. “Once the babies are born, Markus wants to do a huge ceremony in a church Carl made the stained-glass windows for…but I really loved being at City Hall. I might need you to vouch for me, Lieutenant.”

“Consider it done, kid,” Hank reassures him. “You sure you don’t want me to get you a ride home? You look beat.”

Simon shakes his head. “Even at reduced capacity, it’s good to be here. I appreciate your concern all the same, Lieutenant.”

“You can call me Hank, kid.” Hank pats him carefully on the shoulder before turning back to the cluster of girls, all watching him with wide eyes. “All right, ladies, I know he won’t tell me if he needs a ride home, but I figure you would. Everything okay over here?”

Honey and her sisters exchange glances before Honey nods. “Yes, Lieutenant. He’s all right. We’ll make sure of it, too.”

“All right, kiddo. I’m gonna go check on Connor, okay? Yell if you need me,” Hank reassures them, getting up and going back into the party crowd.

He spends another hour mingling with everyone and exchanging conversations, catching up with old friends and fielding congratulations, until Nines strides up to him with wide, dark eyes full of concern.

“Lieutenant,” he says, “it’s time to cut the cake.”

“It is? Ah, shit, I’ll be right over. How come you look so worried, Nines? It’s just cake.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that you and Connor haven’t shared your first dance yet, and you have to do that before the cake is cut. This is of utmost importance.” Nines folds his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at Hank. “You were prepared for this eventuality, were you not?”

“What? Nines, geez, we don’t have to,” Hank gestures vaguely. “I mean, Connor and I didn’t think—“

“I had a song prepared just in case you two didn’t think, as per usual,” Nines says. “Go find Connor, Henry.”

Hank holds his hands up and concedes in the face of Nines’ full name ultimatum, making his way over to Connor, who is talking with North and Josh, and gently grabs his husband’s arm.

“Your brother insisted at verbal gunpoint that we dance before the cake gets cut, so c’mon, we’re gonna have to find a spot in the hall to do this,” Hank says. Connor tilts his head, grinning at him.

“Really? Awfully cruel of him. I’m starting to get heavy, you know.”

Hank gives him a forehead kiss and takes his hands. “Not so heavy I can’t carry you. C’mon, Con. I do wanna do this with you.”

Connor nods and lets Hank draw him away, pulling him into a hastily-cleared space. The lights dim, and then refocus—also Nines’ doing, no doubt, and the music that starts to play as soon as Hank takes Connor by the waist and shoulder confirms his suspicions. He doesn’t recognize the song, but Connor seems to, sighing with pleasure and resting his body against Hank.

“Did you pick this?” Hank asks, gently shifting Connor, guiding him through a simple, swaying dance, one concerned hand on his stomach for half the steps. Connor shakes his head.

“No, but it’s a good song. I honestly doubted my brother’s taste in music, but I suppose I can take it back. Don’t tell him, though.”

“I won’t,” Hank promises, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, you look beat. You feeling all right?”

Connor gives him a warm, exasperated look, his eyes shining and his LED throwing soft shadows across his face. “Henry, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Hank pulls him close and nods, letting Connor wrap his arms around him, gently leading him through the next few bars. He takes him by the hand and twirls him slowly, pulling him back close into his embrace, running his fingers through Connor’s hair. He rocks Connor back and forth, closes his eyes, and listens. Unlike his husband, he can’t record every second of this and commit it to a perfect computerized memory, and that means he has to hold onto every second he possibly can.

The music starts to wind down. With Connor resting against him, Hank can feel the babies kick again, and he smiles. “You liked that too, huh? We’ll take you dancing when you’re older, babies.”

Connor smiles and nods, laying his head on Hank’s shoulder, his eyes half-closed. Hank strokes his hair, a frown marring his features. “Babe? Everything all right?”

“Yes, beloved,” Connor murmurs, nuzzling into his suit jacket. “Just trying to conserve my energy. I want my wedding night with you, and I won’t let my system deny me that delight.”

“Oh, right,” Hank says, face flushed. “Yeah, let’s—let’s cut the cake, and once everyone’s eating, we sneak out the back. Nines can handle the guests. Tonight’s for us, okay?”

Connor nods, squeezing his hand. “Okay.”

Hank leads his husband over to the cake table, taking the knife and cutting the first piece as camera flashes flicker on and off in his vision like stars going out. He slices it out and presents it to Connor, who cocks his head briefly, analyzing its contents, taking a fingerful of frosting and stuffing it in his mouth. For a second, he’s quiet. Then he shoves what remains of the cake into Hank’s face.

“I’ve been looking forward to that part of the ceremony all night,” Connor says as Hank sputters and flicks frosting at him, shaking it off his face like a dog after a bath. “Don’t worry. I analyzed the cake beforehand to ensure the contents were safe to use for this purpose.”

“God damn it, Connor,” Hank says, but he’s laughing, grabbing what remains of the cake and shoving his fingers back into Connor’s mouth, thoroughly unsurprised when Connor’s tongue slides over them with desperate abandon. Connor hums in bliss.

“What else did you think I would do with the cake, my darling? I can’t eat it,” Connor says, unimpeded by Hank’s fingers in his mouth, batting his lashes playfully at him. Hank just slips his fingers out and wipes them on Connor’s cheek, leaving a glistening frosting-flecked trail.

“You can’t, but I can,” Hank says, turning back to the cake and cutting a careful slice, setting it aside. “One year from now, anyway.”

“Oh, right. I’ll tell my brother to set that piece aside.” Connor tugs eagerly at his hand. “We can sneak out now, right?”

“Well, not if you’re gonna discuss it in front of everybody,” Hank teases him, and Connor’s LED circles yellow. Hank tugs him aside as servers start cutting the cake for them, leading Connor over to the side wall and winding his fingers tighter in his own.

< _Nines? >_

 _< You’re going to leave the ceremony, aren’t you.> _Nines’ connection echoes with exasperation. < _Can’t you at least wait a little longer, you shameless hussy? >_

_< Absolutely not. I have about two hours of time left before my processors will be too overtaxed to do anything else other than enter standby, and I’m going to make love to my husband on my wedding night if it’s the last thing I do. Tell everyone I died if you must.>_

_< Or I could just tell them the truth.>_

_< Either way, I won’t be here to stop you, so if _you _can manage to tell everyone I’m off having S-E-X without dying of embarrassment, I’m sure it’ll be concrete proof you’re the superior RK model. Otherwise— >_

Nines sputters, and Connor cuts the connection, letting Hank pull him through the door and into the main restaurant, winding their way through tables and navigating the front lobby, Connor holding one hand over his bump and the other clutching Hank’s grip as tight as possible until he’s bundled safely into Christine and buckles himself up as Hank starts the car.

“Huh. Should’ve done the tin can thing, now that I think about it,” Hank says as he pulls out of the restaurant parking lot. “Guess you’ll have to settle for driving home with your husband quietly.”

“I think right now that’s all I want,” Connor concedes, taking his hand and resting it atop Hank’s on the wheel, letting himself slip into a brief standby while Hank drives them home, but not before adding—“Apart from you, of course.”

Hank’s laugh is soft and fond. “Well, _that_ you can always count on.”


	23. We'll Grow Old Together in The Light of Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story comes to an end, and a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! This is the last "proper" chapter of The Light of Rebirth, but I'll be writing an epilogue to resolve a few things and have a real introduction to the babies. That said, thank you so much for sticking with me through this fic; it went some directions I never expected, and I got to really get a feel for these characters and explore androids and transhumanism and all that good stuff. It was a fun ride for me! I hope it was just as fun to ride alongside! :)

Hank unlocks the front door with his free hand, Connor sitting in his grip, his arms wrapped tight around Hank’s shoulders and his skirt trailing on the floor. Hank sets him down gently in front of Sumo, whose tail wags at the sight of Connor and Hank, trotting circles around them as Connor takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the couch.

“Not gonna hang it up?” Hank teases. Connor shoots him a look.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, dear. Aren’t you going to ravish me?”

“Con, we’re not having wedding sex on the couch.”

Connor tuts and reaches out, undoing Hank’s tie and tossing it over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Hank makes a face, leaning in and kissing Connor’s forehead. “Yes, I’m sure. I wanna make this special for you, sweetheart.”

Connor nods, taking Hank by the hand and bringing him up the steps, the old wood creaking and settling underneath them. Hank squeezes Connor’s hand tight as they stand in front of the door together, Connor vibrating with eager energy.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Hank says, his voice soft and soothing. “Let me carry you to bed.”

Connor lets Hank lift him up and carry him over the threshold, into their room and over the scattered laundry by the hamper, his shoes making no sound on the rug Connor had picked for the master bedroom. Connor lays his head against Hank’s shoulder and sighs.

“I’m glad I’m not too heavy for you,” he murmurs. “It’s been awhile since you carried me.”

“Is that right? I’ll have to do it more. It’s good to hold you, Con. I’ll always be here to hold you,” Hank promises, laying him down on the bed and climbing on top of him, kicking his shoes off and putting his hands on the front of Connor’s shirt. Connor squirms underneath him as Hank starts to unbutton his top, nudging at Hank with the ball of his foot.

“Hank, wait—“

“No, no. You’ve been holding out on me, baby, and I wanna see that lingerie. I’ve waited for months to get a look at you.” Hank puts a firm hand on Connor’s chest, just above the bump, where he’s vibrating and lit up with delight. “Let me take all this off, first.”

Connor helps Hank pull his shirt off and toss it aside, leaving him in a delicate lace bandeau, the swirling silver and blue patterns leaving pale pink marks against his skin. Hank tweaks the elastic and Connor grabs him by the hand, putting his palm over the slight swell of his breast. Liquid leaks out, staining the lace, and Connor shivers.

“Aw, sweetheart. Look at you, all wet for me,” Hank teases, tweaking his nipple again. Connor huffs and squirms, sitting up so Hank can slide his zipper down and start pulling his skirt down over his thighs.

“It’s not _for_ you, it’s for the babies,” he whines, but he cups the small swell of his tits together as Hank’s fingers slide down his thigh. “Oh—oh, I mean—someone has to see if it works, I’m sure I—“

“Ssh, ssh. You’re nervous, sweetheart. Why are you nervous? It’s just me,” Hank says, kissing his bump and rubbing his hands over Connor’s thighs, edging the skirt down to a puddle around his ankles. Connor shakes his head, his hair falling in small dark curls around his face.

“No, it’s not. It’s our wedding night,” Connor insists. “This is more than _just_ sex. This is—I mean, it feels like it should be—more. Right?”

Hank lifts Connor out of his skirt and gently slides it off the bed, pulling his heels off his shoes and rubbing a comforting hand over the silk heel of his stockings. He lays down next to Connor, still in his suit, and rests a hand on Connor’s bump. Connor turns to him, his eyes wide and dark with worry.

“There’s nothing more to this than the two of us, and what we promised to each other,” Hank reassures him. “You don’t have to do anything special for me, Connor. Just be here with me. That’s all I want.”

“Every day,” Connor murmurs, resting his hands atop Hank’s and closing his eyes, his LED stilling to a cool, reflective blue. “Every day for the rest of our lives.”

The babies stir beneath their hands, and Hank feels them kick. He rubs the swollen skin around Connor’s chassis soothingly, sitting up to put a hand in Connor’s hair. “Yeah. That’s all that matters. Don’t be worried about anything else, okay? You’re gonna make me feel so good. I trust you.”

“I will,” Connor whispers as Hank sits back up and climbs between his legs, spreading his thighs apart and looking down on Connor’s wet, aching cunt, soaking through the lace of his panties, his dick hard between his folds and throbbing eagerly as Hank’s fingers slide down to tug gently on it, “I will, I will, I—Hank, I—your _suit—“_

“Huh? Something the matter, sweetheart?” Hank says, still playing with Connor’s dick, his thumb rubbing the foreskin back, his hand pushing the soaked fabric aside. Connor whines and bucks his hips up, giving Hank a pleading look, his lower lip quivering.

“Hank, your _suit—“_

“Huh? Oh, that thing,” Hank shrugs it off, flashing a wicked smile at Connor. “What about it?”

“It’s—you’re—oh, Hank—you’re not ready—“

Hank shakes his head, leaning over Connor, holding his legs open wide and rubbing his clothed erection against Connor’s dripping cunt. “I already got everything I need right in front of me, kitten, what are you talking about?”

Connor whines louder, reaching up to grab at his suit jacket, his fingers slipping over the smooth fabric. “Hen- _ry—“_

“Oh, you’re gonna have to do more than complain, kitten,” Hank teases him, kissing his ankle as Connor’s legs thrash weakly in his grip. “You want this off? You have to beg for it.”

Connor squirms and tries to sit up to grab at his jacket, but his belly keeps him from doing much more than scooting backwards on the bed and pouting up at Hank. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Why not? You like being such a little tease so much, now it’s my turn.”

Connor huffs. “When have I ever teased you about anything, Hank?”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “You really want a list?”

Connor presses the ball of his foot against Hank’s shoulder, pushing gently. “Fine. What was it this week?”

“These panties, kitten,” Hank says, slipping his fingers back into Connor’s cunt, rubbing against the wet, tight heat. “I’ve been thinking about how you’d look in them for months. And you wouldn’t even let me have a peek? You’re a tease when you want to be, kitten. I’m just playing tit for tat.”

He leans in to kiss Connor’s thigh, hooking the elastic of his garter belt strap in his teeth and tugging at it, letting it snap back and leave his skin shivering away from the sensation, silver chassis shining through. Connor’s voice stutters, turns to static.

“I picked them out for you,” Connor says as Hank’s hands slide over his stockings, fiddling with the clasps keeping them pulled up over his thighs. “I wanted—I wanted to look good for you, Hank, so good—“

“You did? Atta boy. You’re always good for me,” Hank reassures him. “Especially right now, all wrapped up like a present. I haven’t even finished taking off all the ribbons and bows yet, have I?”

Connor shakes his head, arching up into Hank’s touch. “No, but I want—I want—“

“What do you want, kitten?” Hank says, unclasping the first garter strap, pulling it down and tugging off Connor’s stocking.

“Please,” Connor whines. “I can’t—I can’t stand seeing you with your suit on when I’m so—and you’re so—“

“You’re so what, Connor?” Hank says, taking off his second stocking, letting them fall limp on the bed as he leans down and hooks the lacy belt in his teeth, tugging it down and exposing Connor’s trembling flesh.

“Fuck— _naked,_ Hank, please—“ Connor squirms as Hank pulls his belt off, his legs trembling. Hank takes off his strappy little bandeau as Connor whines louder, grasping desperately at his swollen, small tits. “You’re still in your suit and I feel so _small—“_

Hank leans forward and kisses him gently on the mouth, their bodies pressed together. Connor’s shivering underneath him, his fingers grasping eagerly at Hank as his husband’s body covers his own, sheltering and shielding him, leaving him wet and needy beneath Hank’s bulk. Hank presses a gentle kiss to Connor’s shoulder and lets his fingers travel upward, pulling his suit jacket off. Connor’s fingers are shaking so hard seeing Hank in just a shirt that his fingers slip over the buttons, and he huffs in frustration as he pulls the shirt open, sending a few buttons flying. He tries to tug it off, but his fingers catch on the cufflinks.

“Fuck, I cannot believe I told you to wear these, fuck, get them _off,”_ Connor whines, pulling the cufflinks clean apart, tearing Hank’s shirt from his body as fast as he could manage.

“I’ll get my belt before you have a breakdown, okay baby?” Hank teases him, unclasping the buckle and sliding it through the straps. Connor harrumphs and bucks up against him, his LED shining gold.

“I appreciate your concern, but I promise I’m fine,” Connor says, his fingers already on Hank’s zipper, undoing his pants and pulling them down, “I’m just—excited.”

“Me too, kitten, it’s okay,” Hank reassures him as he finishes getting out of his pants, sitting up to take his briefs off. Connor helps him out of his socks, and sighs in relief as Hank frees his cock from his briefs, his erection already full and flushed, precum leaking from the tip.

Hank laughs, quiet and fond, and lets Connor run his hands eagerly over his chest, trailing through his chest hair and tracing the tattoo. “You like what you see, huh?”

“Yeah,” Connor slurs, barely a word, his whole body still save for his eyes, following the bob and pulse of Hank’s dick as it brushes against his thigh. “Please?”

“Please what, Con?”

Connor drops his jaw, a stuttering guttural glitch lurching from his throat as he grasps at Hank’s shoulders, his fingers shaking as he tries to keep hold of something while his senses fail him.

“ _Fuck,”_ Connor gasps, his voice breaking up into static as he buries his face into Hank’s neck and sobs. “ _Please.”_

Hank nods, petting his hair gently, smoothing it back from his forehead. “Okay, honey. You just had to ask politely.”

Hank lifts Connor up into his lap with a single fluid heft, spreading his thighs wide and seating Connor on his cock, lowering him down until he’s taken every inch in, his tiny, pretty pussy frantically trying to suck in the thickness of Hank’s shaft.

Hank nuzzles Connor, pulling him into a sloppy, slow kiss as he lowers his hands to Connor’s hips, holding them firmly in his hands and grasping at Connor’s ass and hips while he pulls Connor down onto his dick, lifting him back up and setting a punishing pace.

“There you go, baby, I’m right here,” Hank soothes him, cupping his taut, tight ass and holding him steady as he fucks him. “That’s it, honey. Ssh, ssh, you’re okay.”

Connor trembles, his entire body taut with sensation as he tries to hold himself steady on Hank’s shoulders, hooking his heels together and pressing them against the small of Hank’s lower back. He leans his forehead against Hank’s throat and whines, digging his fingers into the skin.

“Aah,” Connor wails, a steady drawn-out whine, “Aah, aaaah, oh, fuck—Hank, _Hank_ —“

He’s shivering as Hank hefts him up by the hips, leaning over him and pressing him deep into the bed, covering Connor with his whole body and kissing his forehead.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Hank croons, soothing him and petting his hips. “I’m here, baby. I’m here. You’re okay. Hey, honey. Look at me, I got you, ssh…”

Connor pants and moans, spreading his legs wider and digging his fingers into Hank’s shoulders as he tries to push himself further down onto Hank’s dick.

“Hey, hey, easy, easy honey, easy,” Hank soothes him, his voice gentle as he kisses Connor’s forehead. “You can set the pace ‘til you’re ready for me to take over, it’s okay. Go slow, baby. I got you. I’m right here.”

Connor jerks his hips forward and buries his face into Hank’s shoulder, still thrusting himself against Hank’s cock as he cries out against him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’m right here,” Hank soothes him, holding him steady.

“You okay if I’m on top of you, babe?” Hank asks as Connor’s already pulling him down, pressing him close and pushing him in, his fingers frantically hooking his panties aside so Hank can fuck him deeper, sliding home into his slick, wet heat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hank murmurs, chuckling to himself as he buries himself in Connor, his hips meeting Connor’s thighs and his hands holding onto him as he sets the pace, starting careful and slow, testing Connor’s new limits. Connor grabs at him and shakes his head.

“I can handle it, please,” he whimpers, his voice glitching out. “Hank, I need—please I _need_ I need _harder—“_

“Okay, okay. Ssh, ssh, spread your legs a little wider,” Hank says, rubbing Connor’s thighs as he works deeper into him, listening to Connor’s mewls of delight with a pleased little groan. “There you go, that’s it—feels so good to have you underneath me, kitten, you’re so wet and full and fat with my babies—“

Connor cries out underneath Hank, his whole body vibrating in pleasure as Hank thrusts into him, the bed creaking beneath them as he picks up his pace, setting a stronger rhythm that makes Connor clench up around him, his cunt silky-soft and shivering, his moans and cries coming out stuttering and distorted.

“Please,” Connor whines, “please, please, please—“

Hank presses kisses along his shoulders as Connor trembles underneath him, his breasts dripping and his cunt slicking up the space between his and Hank’s bodies.

“There you go,” Hank soothes him, holding him close and fucking deeper into him, “that’s it, there’s my baby. You look so fucking gorgeous, Con.”

Connor moans and rocks against him, his whole body vibrating with pleasure. Hank grabs him by the hair, tenderly pressing kisses to his jaw and throat. His free hand holds Connor’s hips so tight the skin slides away, shining silver underneath.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you hear me? Come for me, baby,” Hank demands, lifting Connor up to fuck him harder. “I want you to feel as good as I do, want you coming on my cock—“

Connor cries out and tenses up, squirting around Hank’s cock as he comes, sobbing with relief, his cries ratcheting up as Hank starts to stroke his dick again, playing with it between his fingers.

“You’re so good for me,” Hank murmurs, leaning closer, kissing the soft swoop between Connor’s neck and shoulder, “so perfect, my baby, sweetheart, honey my _husband—“_

“Uh-huh,” Connor sighs, shuddering in delight as he milks Hank’s cock, his cunt so tight he feels like he’ll burst open any second, “yours, yours, my husband—mine, Hank! All mine, mine, mine—“

Hank presses kisses to his lips, and as his thrusts get more frantic and eager, his kisses reach Connor’s cheeks, and he finally settles for nuzzling against Connor and laughing with delight, tears sliding down his face as he buries his face into Connor’s shoulder and holds his hips down against him, coming so deep into Connor that he feels like he’ll never come back out, clear slick and pearly cum mingling together between their sweat-soaked bodies.

“Fuck,” Hank sighs, sated and rough, kissing Connor’s throat until it shines silver. “Ah, fuck, sweetheart—“

“It’s all right,” Connor says, holding onto Hank tighter, hooking his legs around Hank’s waist and cuddling him. “I’ll always be here, Hank. I promised. It’s okay to cry.”

“Just—fuck,” Hank says, holding on as tight as he dares with Connor’s baby bump pressed between them. “I mean, I _know_ you know, but—I love you. I love you so much, and it’s just—this is our _bed_ , we’re sleeping here and we’re _married—“_

Connor laughs, soft and fond, as Hank slips out of him and leaves him soaked between his legs. He reaches down to gather up some of the mess along his fingers, licking himself clean and batting his lashes at Hank playfully. Hank grasps him by the wrist and kisses his messy fingertips clean.

“I know, Hank. I’ve always known I loved you.” Connor tilts his head. “Well. For as long as I’ve known I was…me. There was you. Always you. And that makes me happy.”

“Always,” Hank promises, nuzzling him with another sleepy kiss. “Always you. Took me too long to get it, but now I’m not letting go, okay? Never.”

Connor entwines their hands together, their rings bumping against one another’s skin, and reaches up to press a kiss to Hank’s knuckles. “You’d have a hard time letting go when I’m planning to hold on tight, beloved.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hank says, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “The babies okay?”

“Hank, we had a bit of light sex, I’m not made of spun sugar.”

Hank raises his eyebrows. “Me fucking you into the headboard is ‘light’ sex now?”

“I wasn’t tied up or plugged full and you didn’t use any toys or restraints or cages on me, so,” Connor makes a vague gesture. Hank groans and leans his head on Connor’s shoulder, breathing heavily. Even after their last session, his cock still tries to stir with interest at Connor’s words, but the rest of him just isn’t having it.

“We can do all that stuff after the babies are born,” Hank promises. “If they’re spending the night at Nines’, of course, but…”

Connor blinks, and is silent. Hank is too busy lifting him up out of the wet spot and re-arranging the blankets to realize, until Connor finally speaks up.

“Oh. I hadn’t—I mean, it makes sense that we wouldn’t—but, well—“

Hank leans against his pillow and bites back the rising urge to laugh. “Wait. Jesus Christ on a fucking bike, Connor, did you really not realize—“

“I didn’t think it would be an _issue,_ my dick doesn’t fall off after I have _children,_ I still fail to see what the problem is—“

“Oh, you’ll figure it out after the first week,” Hank says, giddiness bubbling up in him as he presses a pillow over his own face, trying to stifle his snorting and failing. Connor squishes the pillow down further on top of him and Hank swats him off, taking the pillow and hitting him with it.

“I am an advanced android capable of adapting to any problematic situation I encounter,” Connor says, folding his arms over his swollen stomach. “You’ll see, Henry. You’ll have me in restraints with a bruised ass before you know it.”

“Fucking hell, you dumb horny bastard,” Hank grins, laughing to himself. “Sure, sweetheart. For now can we split the difference and snuggle in the post-marital afterglow?”

Connor lays out on his side, safely ensconced in his pregnancy pillow, and pouts up hopefully at Hank in response. Hank’s grin softens to a tender, gentle smile, full of love and warmth, and he comes closer to hold Connor, his broad arms wrapped completely around Connor’s smaller body, his big hands resting against his husband’s baby bump. Hank buries his face into Connor’s hair and takes a deep breath, sighing in bliss. Connor closes his eyes, his processors whirring and his systems urging him to sleep.

“I love you, Hank.”

“Love you too, Connor,” Hank mumbles. “First night of the rest of our lives together went pretty well, don’t you think?”

Connor’s already falling asleep, but he summons up the energy to emit rose-pale light from his LED, bathing the room in a loving glow, before it settles down into the usual standby silver. Hank grins, presses his lips to the top of Connor’s head in a casual goodnight kiss, and then joins his husband for some well-earned sleep.

…

The day after the wedding is a daze, and spent mostly in bed. There’s gifts to unbox, things in the nursery to rearrange, but Connor needs the rest after the upheaval of yesterday, and Hank’s idea of a honeymoon is a few days in bed beside his husband, so he sets everything else aside just to hold Connor close, rubbing his back and stomach when he whirrs in his sleep, or reads to him from the pile of books on his nightstand when he feels like sitting up, Sumo spread over both their laps, tail idly wagging, content.

Connor’s still not up to much but brief bursts of painting or unpacking, even after a day’s rest, and doesn’t protest Hank hovering over him as he rearranges the nursery. He even lets Hank fix him his drinks, and takes a nap with him in the afternoon. He lets Hank do it for the rest of the week, even, and never actually stops letting Hank make him his thirium drink, or protesting when Hank urges him to bed early, or when he calls from work to tell Connor to nap. The swell of his stomach has started to drop lower onto his abdomen as the month winds on, and his every step drags along the hardwood floors.

“Just feel,” Connor mumbles, laying out in bed with his face pressed into his pillow, “slowed down. Like I’m fighting through static. Hurts.”

“You’re hitting your seventh month, babe, and you’ve got twins. You’re just fuckin’ tired, it’s okay,” Hank soothes him. “Hey. You sleep. I’ll handle the thank-you cards and all that shit.”

Connor squirms, trying to disentangle himself from his pillow. “The thank you cards—I knew I was forgetting something, I should—“

“Sleep. You should sleep. I can handle this,” Hank says, gently holding Connor against his pillow. “I’ll leave space blank so you can sign your name later. Sleep, baby. I love you.”

Connor mumbles protests, but they die down to faint static as Hank presses kisses along his forehead. He’s back on standby in minutes, and Hank brings the thank-you cards in to do his work next to Connor’s sleeping body, watching the way his bump shifted as he breathed. He switches from thank-you cards to police paperwork at some point, and eventually gets up to start stuffing envelopes and make himself a sandwich. Connor wakes up for a few quiet hours later in the evening, and they watch some episodes of a cartoon called _Still Waters._

“It’s kind of amazing what’s considered kid-friendly these days,” Hank remarks, playing idly with Connor’s hair. “I mean, you saw that monster design, right? I can’t stand shit that hangs out in lakes. I could practically smell the rotting kelp.”

“It’s a cartoon, Henry,” Connor yawns, leaning his head on Hank’s shoulder and pushing his face into it, nuzzling him. “Children love monsters.”

“Yeah? Well, hopefully these two will like some good ones,” Hank says. “Y’know, like…Gamera. Or Totoro.”

Connor gives him an exasperated look. “Totoro’s not a monster.”

“He’s a big fat cat-rabbit….thing….with big teeth. To a kid it’s the same thing.”

“ _You’re_ a big fat cat-rabbit thing with big teeth,” Connor mumbles, entwining his free hand in Hank’s and rubbing his thumb along his knuckle. “Actually, now that I think about it…you do look a lot like Totoro.”

Hank gives him a look that could dry oceans and freeze deserts. Connor bats his lashes.

“Totoro-san,” Connor says, and Hank swats him with a pillow until Connor squirms under the blanket for safety, still laughing. “I married Totoro! I married Totoro, can you believe it?”

“Hey, you break it, you bought it,” Hank says, and Connor pokes his head out from underneath the blankets.

“I did,” Connor agrees, scooting up to climb into Hank’s lap, “and I intend to make good use of my purchase, dear.”

“How do you flip that switch so fast, I swear,” Hank grumbles, letting Connor idly rub his hips against his dick, “it’s like you’re going from shenanigans to slutty shit in like, two seconds.”

“Even carrying twins, my processors are more than capable of adapting,” Connor croons, and Hank rolls his eyes, lifting him up closer.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere.”

Connor kisses him for a few minutes—slow, lingering and sweet, his belly warm and pulsing with life against Hank’s chest. Hank holds him steady until Connor chooses to break the kiss, lifting his head away.

“I don’t think I’d be up for…a full session of intercourse, Hank,” Connor confesses, glancing aside. “I’m sorry if I misled you, but—“

“Con, ssh. Come here, relax. It’s okay,” Hank soothes him. “Lay down, let me hold you. I got you. It’s okay, you’re gonna be just fine…”

Connor lets Hank settle him onto the bed, sighing in pleasure when Hank slides his hand between Connor’s legs, curling up behind him and letting Connor rest against his stomach, Hank’s heartbeat thudding against his skin, soothing him as Hank plays with his dick, stroking it and rolling it between his fingers.

“But you can’t,” Connor mumbles, his voice low and fuzzy, like a toy with low battery. Hank hushes him.

“I don’t need to come, I’m fine. Just want to make you feel good, Con.”

“Hank,” Connor sighs, a promise, a caress. Hank kisses the top of his head and continues stroking and petting him until Connor’s whole body gently vibrates, shuddering with pleasure, and his LED throws standby silver light over the room. Hank lifts his fingers away and rests them on Connor’s stomach, closing his eyes and laying down next to him.

…

Time trundles on. By Connor’s eighth month, Hank’s working two days a week—not quite on leave yet, but he’s got enough time to put the house together and start organizing everything for the babies, unpacking wedding gifts and mailing out thank-you cards. Connor’s resting upstairs with Sumo, rain pattering the windows, and Hank is downstairs organizing the kitchen when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores the call, his hands full with a wire cooling rack he’s been trying to assemble all morning, and the vibrations eventually die down. Then, a second later, they begin again.

Hank grumbles, sets the rack aside, and picks up his phone.

“ _Lieutenantitsanemergencyidontknowwhattodo—“_

Hank blinks. “What? What’s going on—“

“ _Lieutenant! Lieutenant, it’s Markus Simon won’t wake up I don’t know what to do—“_

Hank takes a deep breath. “Okay. How long has he been out?”

“ _All night, he said he’d be awake by nine and it’s noon and he still isn’t responding and I can’t interface with him!_ ”

 _“_ Okay. It’s going to be fine—did you try reaching out to Connor? He might know more than me—“

“ _He’s not answering! I can’t connect to him, please Lieutenant help—“_

“Okay, okay! I’m not going anywhere, just stay with him, I’m gonna—fuck, where’d Connor put the manuals?” Hank starts opening kitchen drawers, but none of the contents yield results. “Okay, I’m gonna check the bathroom for the manual, I know Connor said something about the tub before—can you move him?”

Frantic muttering on the other line, and then Markus adjusting the phone. “ _North’s got him. Are you sure we need a tub?”_

“No, but even if this is android shit, it’s gonna get messy. Seems as good a place to start as any,” Hank says. “Didn’t Chloe tell you how to handle the attachments?”

_“Simon handled it, he said it would be fine and it’s not—“_

“It’s gonna be! Relax, Markus, it’s okay. This isn’t the first time anyone’s ever been born. Kid’s gonna be fine,” Hank says, opening the mirror cabinets. Taped to the back of the mirror is a small, sleek manual with the CyberLife logo on it, and a post-it note attached; ‘For Hank.’

Hank takes the manual and opens it up, checking the index for ‘Delivery’ and flipping through. “Right, okay. He’s fine, Markus. Apparently this is just a thing that happens when the kid’s ready to come out. He must’ve been on standby when the alerts started, so he couldn’t tell you.”

“ _Okay, okay! How do I get them out?”_

“Yeah, here comes the messy part,” Hank says, leafing through the pages. “Open his chest cavity up, take out the attachment—“

“ _Which one?”_

“Oh, right, shit—says here the attachment will be opaque rather than transparent, to signify the end of the process. Grab that one,” Hank says. “And send someone to get towels. As many as you can find.”

There’s a flurry of activity on the other end of the line as Hank reads through the instructions, waiting for Markus to return. He takes a deep breath, and steadies himself, anxiety looming behind him like a wave waiting to slam against the shore.

“ _Okay. Okay, I opened him up, I got the—the attachment out. What now?”_

“There should be a button along the base of it—you’re probably fine, since you’re an android, but be careful when you’re opening it up anyway. The baby’s gonna need to be washed clean and have the placenta and cord cut. Please tell me you have something sterile around.”

“ _Carl’s medical kits,”_ Markus sighs in relief, and Hank can hear shouting for a second before he’s back. “ _All right, North and Josh went to go get what we need. Is Simon going to be all right?”_

 _“_ Oh, yeah. He’d be awake right now if not for the other attachment, I think that’s draining him,” Hank explains. “But he’s not going to shut down, Markus. He’s fine.”

More noise and interference, and then Markus says, “ _All right, I have what I need. Should I open the attachment?”_

“I think it’s time, yeah,” Hank says.

There’s a pause. The phone gets set down—Hank can hear the click—but he listens in, waiting. A few minutes go by, and then a piercing howl breaks the silence. Hank’s face splits into a helpless grin, listening to the baby cry, a cluster of cooing and hushing surrounding the sound, and the rustle of towels and the whisper of thin swaddling clothes being wrapped and unwrapped and tossed aside. It’s about ten minutes before Markus picks up the phone again.

“ _He’s okay,”_ Markus says. “ _Simon, I mean. And, um—our son.”_

Hank sighs in relief. “Shit, kid. You three really had me worried there.”

“ _Me too! He’s so_ small, _”_ Markus says. “ _I’ve never seen a human that small. Is he going to be all right?”_

“He’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about a thing. You should go be with them, Markus. I’ll check in with you three later, I promise,” Hank says.

“ _I will, I’m going to. I just—I just wanted to say thank you, Hank. That’s all.”_

“You’re welcome, kid,” Hank says, and hangs up the phone. He sets it aside on the bathroom sink, staring down at the manual, and takes a deep breath. He buries his face in his hands and steadies himself, his heart pounding wildly, the phantom pain of blood on his hands a maddening itch.

“I saved him,” Hank says to himself, his throat so tight it threatens to tear him apart. “I saved him. I saved them all, just in time.”

He stands up and sheds a burden he hadn’t felt until it slid from his shoulders, leaving him lighter than he’d ever been as he drifts up the stairs and into the master bedroom, opening the door and watching Connor sleep, Sumo curled up beside him. He watches Connor for a long time, until he stirs and sits up in bed, head tilted and eyes dull and soft with sleep.

“I could hear your heartbeat,” Connor says, rubbing the side of his face. “Hank? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Simon just had the baby,” Hank says. “Well, one of them. Other one’s got a few months, but—“

“Oh, he did? Oh, I’m sorry I missed it—why didn’t you wake me?”

Hank sighs and sits on the bed, sinking into the memory foam. “Markus just called me in a panic. I had to talk him through it, since Simon was still in standby mode. But it was fine. He’s fine. They’re all fine—him and Simon and the baby boy—“

Connor nods, beckoning Hank closer. Hank buries himself into Connor’s embrace and clings to him with blinding gratitude.

“I didn’t even realize how worried I was,” Hank says, still holding onto Connor. “But I’m going to do this right, Connor. The babies will be just fine.”

“I know, Hank. I never doubted you,” Connor says. “You’ve still got time. It’s all right. You’re going to be just fine, and so will we.”

Hank rests a hand against Connor’s stomach, his body relaxing when he feels an insistent little kick. He rubs the skin along Connor’s stomach and sighs, smiling, tears ringing his lashes.

“Yeah, okay. You’re so good, Con,” Hank says, leaning in to kiss him. Connor kisses back, his hand resting on top of Hank’s, and squeezes gently.

“Would you mind helping me out of bed and into the nursery?” Connor asks. “I’d just like to put the finishing touches on a few things today, if that’s all right.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Hank says, getting up out of bed and shifting Connor into his grasp, carrying him down the hall and towards the nursery, Connor resting his head on his chest, and their babies held safe between them.

…

“Henry, you’re hovering.”

“No I’m not,” Hank says, standing a hairsbreadth behind Connor, looking over his shoulder. “How are they?”

Connor gives him an exasperated look. “I told you, my processors function differently than Simon’s, and I’ve only got the one attachment. I’ll be awake to tell you when they’re ready.”

“Yeah, but you said they’d be ready in forty-nine hours, and it’s been forty-eight, so,” Hank gestures to Connor’s bump and Connor rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible. They’re not banana bread, it’s not on a timer. They’ll be ready when they’re ready,” Connor says.

“All right, but, do you want me to put you in the tub now? I drew a bath and everything.”

Connor groans. “Will it make you stop hovering?”

“Debatable,” Hank says. “Gotta make sure you don’t drown in there, kid.”

“I’m going to drown _you_ ,” Connor grumbles, but he lets Hank lift him out of bed and across the room, Sumo trotting alongside them as Hank walks to the end of the hall and hip-checks the bathroom door open, settling Connor down into the warm waist-deep water before rifling through the medicine cabinet for the delivery aid kit. Sumo lays down in the doorway, watching Hank with wide, pleading eyes.

“Sorry, puppy. That’s as far as you go, just in case. You can see the babies when they’re out of Connor’s belly, promise,” Hank soothes him, kneeling down to rub behind his ears. “Want me to get you a book, Connor?”

“No, I’m all right,” Connor says. “Just listening to the rain.”

“Yeah, that’s April for you,” Hank agrees, crossing the room to open the shutters on the bathroom window. “Jesus. Coming down like cats and dogs.”

Sumo boofs.

“Not you, puppy. Metaphorical ones.”

Hank sits next to the tub, Connor resting beside him, one hand on his stomach, watching it with narrowed eyes. Hank raises an eyebrow and Connor shakes his head. “I’m fine, Hank. Just thinking about…well, everything.”

“That’s a whole lot to hold in your head, kitten.”

“Well, once the babies are born, I’ll be able to do it with ease,” Connor sighs. “But—that’s the worst I’ve dealt with. Which is strange, because every other depiction of birth I’ve seen has been such a painful, bloody mess.”

“Yeah, but you’re an android. It’s different,” Hank shrugs. “All that matters is that the babies are safe and healthy. Hell, I’m happy you’re not in pain, Connor. Why would you want that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…feel pain like people,” Connor says. “I get damage warnings, places might shut down or leave me performing at a lower capacity, but not actual pain. It doesn’t feel real right now.”

“What doesn’t?”

Connor gestures down at his bump. Hank sighs and rubs his hand along the swell. “Trust me, it will when they’re out.”

Connor murmurs quiet agreement, but his expression remains unconvinced. Hank sighs and waits beside him, Sumo getting up to get a chew toy, and returning to the hallway to gnaw thoughtfully on it while the water drains from the tub. The rain falls outside, a rustling rhythm that shakes the window screen, and thunder rolls in, an all-consuming rumble that rattles the house. Hank embraces the sound, leaning his head against his knuckles, his eyes half-closed, listening to the gurgle of water draining from the tub and pounding the windows and walls outside.

“Hank?”

Hank lifts his head, watching Connor. “You all right, Con?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fucking terrified, I’m fine it’s time it’s _fuck—“_

Hank sits up and scrambles to assist, taking both of Connor’s trembling hands in one of his own, meeting his wild-bright eyes. “Hey, hey. Look at me. You know I can do this. I know I can do this. We’re all going to be fine.”

“It’s pushing on me,” Connor says, his whole body vibrating. “It doesn’t hurt but I feel how much they want out and I—I—“

“Yeah? Okay, it’s okay. Let’s get them on out, ssh,” Hank soothes him, reaching out to rest his hand on Connor’s stomach, pushing the chest plate open on his chassis. “Okay, there you go. Look at all your wires, precious. They’re all in working order, nothing’s going wrong. The babies are just ready to go.”

Connor whines when Hank lifts his hand away, and Hank makes a soft cooing noise as he presses his fingers against Connor’s wires. “It’s okay, baby. I just need both hands to do this. You can feel me in your wires, right? I won’t let anything hurt you. Ssh, ssh. I’m just gonna get them out.”

Connor’s whole body pulses with frantic energy as Hank pushes his hands into his wiring, reaching around the attachment and pulling it out with utmost care, holding it in his hands for a few brief seconds before handing it to Connor. Connor moans in panic, toes curling against the tub, his LED bruised, bleeding red.

“Sweetheart, you gotta do this. I don’t want to hurt the babies. It’s safer if you do it. Open it up, okay? It’s time to say hello,” Hank soothes him. Connor closes his eyes and stills his shaking hands, his chest and innards shining sapphire, hanging open with his abdomen attachment set aside. His hand reaches down and presses the button that splits the attachment, resting it against his chest as he tears it open with careful precision, peeling back the bulging shell to expose the two tiny bodies inside, slopping amniotic fluid all down his front and into the tub. He doesn’t even notice, too busy lifting his babies up and out, settling them against his chest as they start to scream, their mouths a howling ‘o’ of offense. Hank laughs, weak and wet, tears running down his face.

“They got your big mouth,” he says. “C’mere, Con, you gotta cut the cord—“

Connor takes the surgical scissors from him and severs the cord and placenta, letting it fall into the tub, the ruby blood mixing with the sapphire splatter of thirium. He hands the scissors back to Hank and hushes their babies with soft cooing, adjusting them both against his chest, blood smearing him as he beams brighter than the sun.

Hank kneels beside the three of them in silence, sobbing so hard he can barely see his babies. Connor leans forward and kisses his cheek, still holding them both.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Two healthy babies, Hank. A beautiful little boy and girl. They’re all right. We’re okay.”

“Sam and Genny?” Hank says, his voice shaking. Connor clucks his tongue, frowning.

“Sam and _Genevieve,_ yes,” he says. “My daughter is a dignified woman, Henry.”

“She’s a wrinkled, screaming little peanut,” Hank says, sniffling and grinning, tears wobbling at the edge of his voice. “You’re a wrinkly little peanut, aren’t you? You’re my babies.”

Connor makes a face at him, and Hank starts to laugh for real, tears dripping from his eyes as he struggles to breathe, delight and wonder and a strange, gut-deep grief gripping him in equal measure as he watches his husband and their babies.

“Hank? Can I ask you a favor?” Connor says as Hank steadies his breathing, rubbing at his eyes. “I’d like to put my proper chassis back together. Could you get my abdomen plating? I left it under the sink, wrapped up.”

Hank nods, kneeling down in front of the sink and opening it up, pulling the plating out and returning to Connor’s side, settling it in place for him. Connor hums, soft and fond, and his chassis seals shut.

“You’re upset,” Connor says as Hank pulls away. “I’ve been reading your expressions since the babies were born, and I know you. Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Hank says. “Absolutely nothing. These are our perfect little wrinkly monsters.”

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Connor agrees. “But you’re hurting, Hank.”

Hank takes a deep breath and looks away, steadying himself.

“Cole,” he says, his voice rough and raw. “Cole. I would give anything for him to be here with his baby siblings right now. Does that—that make me selfish?”

Connor steadies Sam’s head against his chest, still supporting Genevieve, and closes his eyes, searching for a response.

“It makes you a good father,” he says. “It means you love him, and Sam, and Genevieve. And they’ll always know that. And you’ll never forget him. So they won’t either.”

Hank nods, letting Connor’s words sink in. Connor watches his expressions and monitors his heartbeat until he’s content Hank’s settled down. Hank kneels to stroke his hair away from his forehead, and his touch is sure and steady.

“Hey, sweetheart. You ready to get out of this mess?” he says. “Can’t be fun sitting in all this gunk.”

“No, I was thinking I’d marinate in an amniotic-thirium cocktail for a little longer,” Connor says, his voice dry. “Garnish it with the placenta and we have a real winner.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll leave you to it,” Hank says, grinning and getting up. Connor harrumphs at him, and Hank laughs. “C’mon, sit tight. Let me go get blankets for the babies, I gotta move them first.”

Connor waits with the twins as Hank heads to the nursery, taking swaddling clothes out of the changing table drawers and returning to the bathroom, wrapping Sam and Genevieve both up carefully, his hands trembling as they coo and gurgle at him.

“I’ll be right back for you, I promise,” Hank says. “Just gonna go lay them in the bassinettes, okay?”

Connor nods, and Hank leaves the room, holding his babies for the first time. He stops in the hallway to savor the moment, commit it to memory, and steady his breathing. Tears are already pouring down his face, and getting his blubbering on the babies doesn’t seem like a good idea.

He holds them both gently as he enters the bedroom, setting them down in the bassinettes tucked together next to the window, making sure they’re settled.

“Hey, babies,” Hank murmurs, speaking to his children for the first time. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve waited a long time for you. And there’s so much you should know—about me, and your dad, and your big brother. I can’t wait to tell you. But we’ll have all the time in the world, I promise.”

They blink up at him, goggle-eyed and innocent, their tiny hands reaching up for his fingers as he holds his hands out. Hank sucks in a big, shuddering breath, his chest expanding like a bellows to hold the maelstrom of emotion hurtling through him.

“I’ll be here,” he says. “I’ll always be here. I love you so much. We’ve got so much to do, babies. So many stories to tell. I love you.”

When he finally turns around, Sumo’s standing right behind him, tail whipping back and forth with delight. Hank puts a gentle hand on his scruff.

“You stay here and keep watch, boy,” Hank says. “I’m going to get Connor.”

Sumo sits at attention between the bassinettes, watching the room as Hank leaves to return for Connor, still sitting in the tub and staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“This is just the start,” Connor says as Hank wipes him down with a warm, wet towel. “It feels like the whole world ended and started over while I was holding them. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I,” Hank admits, “but no one does, Connor. We figure it out as we go. One day at a time from now on, okay?”

Connor nods as Hank finishes cleaning him, holding his arms up and letting Hank gather him into his embrace.

“I hope you’re grateful for how much lighter I’ve become,” Connor says as Hank walks with him down the hall. Hank snorts.

“You know I’m not gonna be able to carry you everywhere now that the kids are here, right?”

“I’ll carry the twins, and you carry me. Problem solved.”

“Not even close, kitten,” Hank says, shaking his head and kissing Connor’s forehead. “Just enjoy the ride while it lasts.”

Connor grumbles, but he lets Hank carry him the rest of the way down the hall and into their bedroom, Sumo still sitting perfectly still and watching them expectantly, his tail shaking side to side once before settling back down.

“Good boy,” Hank says as he lays Connor down in bed. “You need to recalibrate some stuff, right?”

“Yes, system updates and adjustments and sending messages along after the birth, but I’ll be all right,” Connor promises. “Do you want me to hold the babies?”

“No, let them sleep. If they wake up, I’ll handle it. You just get back to being you, Connor.”

Connor nods, watching Hank cross the room to stand at the window, the bassinettes beside him. He smiles at him, his face relaxed and at ease, his eyes glowing with a new light.

“I love you, Hank.”

“I know. I love you too, Connor.”

Connor leans back against the pillows and starts system adjustments. Hank watches and waits, and listens to his babies’ breathing.

“Huh,” he says, looking out the window, leaning forward to take it in, “the rain’s stopped.”

The sun ushers the clouds away as the world spins on, light gleaming along the wet grass and glistening pavement. The earth shimmers, the sky glows, and the light of rebirth bathes the world outside in glory.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on twitter! I'm still @ staticsighs on there too!


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